by M. L. Maki
A Holtz class destroyer peeks out from behind Blake Island. The number on her hull is ‘9’. Hughes, “The Dwayne Hubler. Damn she’s a nice-looking boat.”
“Aye, she is, and you’re changing the subject.”
“She’s nice, but her ambition is a Navy husband and six kids.”
“Well?”
“I have no idea who she is. When you remove the cultural expectations and acting that comes with courtship…sir, I don’t have any idea who she really is.”
Behind the Hubler, the Douglas comes into view. Tenzar, “Looks like the gang is all here.”
BRIDGE, USS KEVIN DOUGLAS, DDG-8
Commander Brewster Flanagan stands beside his bridge chair watching his crew work. Lieutenant JG Davy Hanks steps up beside him and hands him a message, “Blinker from the Long Beach, sir.”
“I see. We have point. Take us out, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir. Sir, you are aware I was an EM1 on the Horne a few months ago?”
“Yes, I am. You’re more experienced as a sailor than most of our crew. I have confidence in you, Hanks. Proceed.”
ARTHUR 1, 40,000 FEET, 120 MILES EAST OF NOVA SCOTIA
1244, 05 January, 1943
Spike flies an easy left turn. Lieutenant Richard ‘Chick’ Harmer, and Ensign Barbara ‘Babes’ Brubacher are on her wing. She asks, “How are you doing, Chaos?”
“Good. I’ve a few transport planes to our south. Zero threats. Any idea why they haven’t returned?”
“We bloodied their nose good. But, it’s hard to say.”
Chaos, “Do you think they’re giving up?”
“No. I don’t. They invested a lot of resources in those aircraft. They’re going to use them.”
“I’m just happy we’re flying.”
HQ, NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
1012, 05 January, 1943
Buford knocks and walks into Captain Issa’s office, “You wanted to see me, sir.”
“Yes. I understand the docs gave you a fit for full.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ve a good evaluation from Triage. We have students graduating with the next class. All that means, I need platoons. I gave Grunt rail road tracks and Platoon 3. Now, you pin these on. You get Platoon 4.” Issa hands him lieutenant’s bars.
Jere smiles and removes his single JG bar and replaces it with the double bar of lieutenant. “Thank you, sir.”
‘I’m assigning Ensign Zookowski to your team. He’s a 1990 SEAL and should be an asset. Go set up your team area and draw gear.”
Jere shakes Issa’s hand, “Thank you, sir.” He walks out of Issa’s office and closes the door. Grinning like an idiot, he says to himself, “Lieutenant to commander. I’m only two steps below her, now.”
FLIGHTLINE, NAS WHIDBEY ISLAND, WASHINGTON
1020, 05 January, 1943
Commander Sandra ‘Cargo Britches’ Douglas walks in front of her air crews. Her ground crews are already aboard the Vinson and the other ships in the group with helicopters. “Okay, the rest of the airwing joins us in San Diego. That means the anti-submarine mission is ours until then. Yes, we will be supported by the battle group. Yes, we will be supported by land-based air. But we must stay on top of this mission. If the Vinson is lost, our home is gone.” She looks out to the Puget Sound, “The wind is about fifteen out of the south by south west. Remember, on the boat you must hold the brakes down until you are securely chained and chocked. Questions?”
The men and women standing before her are silent. She smiles, “Okay, then. Let’s mount up. Make it pretty.” They all board the helicopters and go through their check lists. When Douglas is done, she gets on the radio, “Gentlemen, start your engines.” Fifteen helicopters start their engines. She gives the engines time to warm up, then, “Whidbey tower, Battle 1. Ready to lift with fifteen birds. Exiting 290.”
“Battle 1, Whidbey tower. Lift. Exit 290. Traffic at 245.”
“Lift, 290. Traffic at 245. Battle 1. Battle flight, lift.” All fifteen birds lift together. “Battle, come to 290.” They turn in unison. “Bring it up to fifty knots.” In formation, they fly toward the fleet sailing north through the Puget Sound. “Testy, CB, peel off with your two for the Long Beach.”
“CB, Testy, Aye.” Lieutenant Doug ‘Testy’ Tester leads his wingman to the Long Beach.
“Bubba, CB. Peel off for the Horne.”
“CB, Bubba, Aye.” Lieutenant Gus ‘Bubba’ Boudica flies solo to be the Horne’s single helo.”
Then CB calls, “Gold Eagle, Battle 1. Request to marshal with twelve.”
“Battle 1, Gold Eagle. Approach in line at 010 on our port side.”
“010. Port side line, Battle 1. Battle flight line it up left first. I’ll peel off and land last.” She watches as her squadron lines up and comes in to land, four at a time. As she said, she’s the last to land.”
Throughout the ship, people hear on the 1MC, “Valkyrie, arriving.”
BOBLINGEN AIRFIELD, GERMANY
0824, 06 January, 1943
Oberst Mentz inspects his aircraft with a technician. The tech points out domes below the wings on each side of the bomber, “These are the broad-spectrum jamming pods.”
“Why under the wing?”
“It was a convenient spot structurally and for the wire run. They’ll be shooting at you from below, so under the wing is ideal. Over here at the back of your bomb bay is the chaff launchers. You have twenty. Forward in the bomb bay, we installed a guidance radar and a rotary missile launcher for ten long-range missiles instead of bombs. You can fire two at a time.”
“I must be facing the threat to fire?”
“Yes, sir. It’s our long-range missile. Given that you will be shooting down as well as forward, the range of the missile should be enhanced. Perhaps even one hundred fifty kilometers.”
Mentz, “Can the radar actually lock up the American jet that far away?”
“I don’t know, sir. It is the same radar the ME-262 uses. Of course, you have to open the bomb bay doors and extend it out before it will work.”
“We need to test it.”
UNION STATION, WASHINGTON, DC
0914, 6 January, 1943
Pettigrew boards the train to New York. He finds a seat and settles in. A woman with her young children stops, “You look healthy enough. Why aren’t you in the service.”
Pettigrew makes eye contact, then looks down.
“Well? You disgust me.”
Keeping his head down, he says, “I disgust me, too.”
“Then why aren’t you in uniform?”
He looks up, his eyes sad, “I did. I did. I was a major. I fu…messed up and got fired. I’m not even good enough to take a bullet, so go on. I agree with you.”
Her eyes open in surprise. She ushers her children down the aisle, “Come, children.”
As she walks away, Pettigrew says, “While you’re at it, be disgusted with yourself. Women like Commander Hunt are serving with distinction. What’s your excuse?”
Her back stiffens and she walks faster.
BRIDGE, USS FIFE DDG-12, MARE ISLAND SHIPYARD, VALLEJO, CALIFORNIA
0715, 7 January, 1943
Commander Laura Wakefield surveys her new bridge with deep satisfaction. It’s a close match to the old one even with the new equipment. She smiles, “At least they didn’t remove the whole superstructure like they did on the Long Beach.”
Her OOD orders ahead two-thirds, then looks back at her. “Lieutenant Peak, continue.” She knows the Jerrett FFG-33 is warping off the pier behind them. They’re on their way.
Lieutenant Commander Avery Coats positions himself next to her, “She’s running sweet. IC1 Baguley sorted out the problems with the 1MC forward. It was a loose wire in a junction box.”
“Thank you, XO. How are you doing?”
“Feeling a little overwhelmed, ma’am.”
“You’re ready. You’ll be fine.”
“I can’t help thinking that I was a
BM1 a year ago.”
“I know, and I was a JG. You have what it takes and the crew respect you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
MITSUBISHI AVIATION FACTORY, TOKYO, JAPAN
0950, 8 January, 1943
Colonel Ichiro Nagasawa walks around the jet with a WSO, Lieutenant Hata. “Where are we getting the titanium for the engines?” He studies the design of the jet. It has two close set in engines and trapezoidal, high-mounted wings. It looks like a cross between a F-5 and a F-104.
The engineer, “Mines in China. It’s so abundant, we are considering finding a way to send some to Germany.”
“Good. Is this being built as a jammer?”
“This one is already equipped. It’s more broad-spectrum. As our sensors improve, this aircraft will have the capability to target specific frequencies.”
Nagasawa, “But, can it fight?”
“It lacks radar, Colonel. It carries heat seeking missiles and it has the gun you insisted on.”
“Yes, a gun is required. The Americans made that mistake in Viet Nam. We will not. Why is there no fighter version?”
“It is thought this design would not be maneuverable enough.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. I know the expected flight characteristics. Let’s do the preflight.”
ESTATE JEWELRY STORE, SAN DIEGO
1550, 7 January, 1943
Lieutenant Jeremiah Buford looks at the five engagement rings on a velvet backing; two diamonds, a sapphire, a ruby, and an emerald. All are elaborate with large stones surrounded by small diamonds. And they are really expensive. Jere, “These don’t work. Too fancy. She’ll want a simple elegant ring with a single stone.”
“Yes, sir. May I ask who the lucky lady is?” He whisks away the tray and replaces it with another with a dozen rings on it.
Jere looks at the man and smiles. “Thank you.” He looks the new rings over and sees a yellow gold ring with tear drop dark amethyst channel mounted on the ring line. The sides of the ring, at the mounting, have slits cut into it to let in the light. Jere smiles, happy. Finally. “This one. It won’t catch on stuff. I may need to get it sized. How much?”
“Sir, that ring is a one of kind from an estate sale. $85.00.”
Jere grins, “I know I should bargain, but that’s fine.” The proprietor puts the ring into a box and the box into a cloth bag, as Jere counts out the money.
10,000 FEET OVER TOKYO BAY, JAPAN
1110, 8 January, 1943
Colonel Nagasawa says, “Hata, the F-15s come again. Jam them.”
“Yes, Colonel.” The aircraft close at low speed, evaluating the jamming system.
After the merge, “Good, Hata. Secure the equipment.” On radio, “Sun Ray leader, jamming craft. At what range could you engage with radar missiles?”
“Gun range, Colonel. Our radar was useless.”
Nagasawa smiles, “Yes. Very good. Thank you. You did well.” On intercom, “We return to base. This aircraft needs to be evaluated for carrier operations.”
“Is it possible, Colonel?”
“The American F-14 is larger and it lands on a carrier. The landing gear must be strong and we’ll need a tail hook. I will see to it. For today, we did well.”
BRIGE, USS FIFE
1640, 7 January, 1943
Lieutenant JG Peter Gant studies the ships to their north and west. Behind them is their portion of the Vinson battle group. There are two Fletcher class destroyers, the La Vallette and Chevalier. He can see the new CIWS on the mount 2 and 4 positions and the triple torpedo launcher on each side of the main deck. The battleship Washington and heavy cruiser San Francisco have most of their five-inch guns removed and replaced with six Phalanx CIWS guns and Sea Sparrow launchers. Washington has six of the missile launchers designed by Maki, and the San Francisco has four. Most of the 40mm Bofors are gone. Looking back to the formation approaching from the north, he sees the Carl Vinson. To their starboard, he can hear the Jarrett calling for flight quarters.
He hears the captain in combat say, “Fife. We’re about to receive our helos. They are Battle 86 and Battle 87. Please come to flight quarters.”
Gant studies the anemometer, “Come to 210.” He picks up the radio, “Fife is altering course to 210 for flight operations.”
The XO, Lieutenant Commander Coats walks onto the bridge, “It’s critical to maintain course during flight ops.”
“Yes, sir. What kind of helicopter are we getting?”
“SH-60s. I’ve heard they’re working on Chinooks for the Army and Marines. We get the Sea Hawk.”
Gant, “Blinker, sir. Admiral Halsey is inviting all the skippers aboard.”
LOUIE’S PUB, BETHPAGE, NEW YORK
1750, 8 January, 1943
Pettigrew sips his beer, watching the bartender, “Man, it must be amazing having Commander Hunt flying out of here.”
The bartender looks at him, “It was. She’s one classy lady. Pure class, that one.”
“Yeah. They got me writing an amazing story series about her. Now that’s she gone; I’ll be following her.”
The bartender grins, “Dress warm. RAF Greenwood is fucking cold this time of year.”
Pettigrew takes a long swallow, “Yeah, I know. We fly through Saint John’s going back and forth to England. Nova Scotia and Newfoundland are fucking cold.”
“Yeah, That’s cold as brass balls. Safe travels.”
Pettigrew pays for his beer. He asks the bartender to call him a taxi and walks outside.
PENSACOLA FLIGHT LINE, FLORIDA
0834, 10 January, 1943
US Army Airforce Lieutenant James Stewart taxi’s his F/A-14 to its spot on the flight line. A large group of aviators and ground crew is gathered, led by Lieutenant Thorne and his skipper, Major David ‘Pound’ Schilling. To his RIO, “Well, Andy, it seems we have a reception.”
“It was our ACM qualification hop.”
“Let’s not keep them waiting.”
Their plane captain climbs up and helps them unbuckle, “Can you keep it out of the cockpit, sir?”
Stewart smiles, “We’ll do our best.” The two pilots climb down behind the plane captain and try to get away from their bird. Their comrades pull bottles of champagne from behind their backs and spray the two down.
Thorne, “Congratulations, Lieutenant Stewart, Lieutenant Anderson.” She shakes their hands.
One of the air force pilots pipes up, “They need call signs.”
Thorne grins, “They do. Stu and Andy are too easy.”
Commander Truman ‘Johnny’ Walker says, “Lieutenant Stewart should get ‘Oscar’, because he earned one. Lieutenant Anderson chatters so much on the radio, I’m sticking him with ‘Gabby.’”
Thorne looks around and sees everyone nodding, “Thus sayeth the boss, thus sayeth us all.”
RAIL STATION, SAINTE MARIE, CANADA
1012, 10 January, 1943
Pettigrew steps stiffly off the train. He looks around for the ticket window. When it’s his turn, he asks, “Ticket to Moncton?”
“It leaves at twelve fifteen, promptly.”
“I understand.”
“Why do you go to Moncton?”
“I go to Greenwood on business. Does the train go straight through?”
“No, it goes to New Glasgow. The next train, at five-fifteen tonight goes straight through to Greenwood.”
“Thank you. I’ll take a ticket for that one.”
The man shrugs and takes his money.
ADMIRAL’S OFFICE, USS CARL VINSON
1200, 10 January, 1943
An aid escorts Commander Wakefield into Halsey’s office. Halsey stands, offering his hand, “Coffee, Larry. How are you doing, Commander?”
“The Fife is sorted out, sir. We’re in much better shape than a year ago.”
“I agree. Let me cut to the chase, are you aware of Congress’s bull shit concerning promoting Commander Hunt?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“I wan
t to apologize to you for being caught in the same net. We wanted to reclassify the Fife as a cruiser. They wouldn’t have given you the fourth stripe, if we had done that. I flatly refused giving you a lateral transfer and assigning an inferior man to your command. I had no chance to consult you.”
“Sir, thank you for your efforts. It won’t be too long before she breaks the glass ceiling keeping us all down. I just need to be patient.”
“Did you get a chance to go home?”
“I did, sir. I spent a few days in Pocatello, Idaho. It was nice.”
“Good. Have you met Hunt?”
“Yes, sir. Briefly, in Australia. We talked when she was in San Francisco on her bond tour. Sir, you know about the attack on New York.”
“Yes. I read the post mortem. Her defense was ad hoc, but it was well thought out. We also know the Germans and Japanese are sharing technology. It’s something to keep in mind.”
“We don’t have a surface to air missile that can reach that high. Can we ask for one, sir?”
“Is it possible?”
“In 1969, we sent men to the moon and back. It should be possible.”
“Then, please do.”
WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT RADAR PLANE, 100 MILES EAST OF EDINBURGH
0510, 11 January, 1943
The radar operator says, “Sir, those bombers? I’m picking up a bunch of them at 082.”
The radar officer, “Thank you.” He picks up the microphone, “Yankee, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. We’ve identified a German bomber stream over Norway. 082 and 250 miles.”
“Whiskey, Yankee. Roger. Continue to track them. We are scrambling the Beefeaters out of Kenley.”
ALBATROSS 1, 80,000 FEET OVER NORWAY
Oberst Mentz leads his formation of forty-six bombers. His copilot, Hauptmann Gant, “Do you think the missile thing will actually work in combat?”
“I doubt we’ll hit a single jet. We may cause their pilots to give up lock, forcing them to miss. If that actually happens, the system will be a success.”
Gant, “Is that why we’re flying to Chicago? To avoid the Drachendame?”
“It is. She can’t be everywhere.”
“Sir, I’m picking up search radars to the south west.”
“So soon?”
BEEFEATER 1, 40,000 FEET, 100 MILES SW OF ALBATROSS FORMATION
