ROCKS AND SHOALS

by M. L. Maki

  Lee, “Commander, it’s time for you to speak to your squadron.”

  Sam steps to the microphone, “Thank you for all you do. It feels good to be back home. We’ve a lot of fighting ahead of us. We’re the finest squadron in the world. We need to maintain that edge. For now, it’s time to fly back to San Diego. Thank you.” When Sam walks down the aisle, Geller announces, “Royal Black Knights, departing.” She grins.

  Klindt and Lee motion her over, and Craig says, “You’re flying to NAS Bolling, overnight there, and then on to San Diego.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  Klindt, “Trust me. Tonight, you dine at the White House.”

  “Craig, you know…”

  Klindt, “Sam, trust me, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Forty minutes later, the squadron is wheels up and escorting the three C-130s with her squadron ground crew. Swede and his chief of staff, Commander Kyle ‘Gandhi’ Jacobs, fly to Oceana. Too Tall, with two more kills, flies back to Grumman. McRae with six kills as a RIO, and three kills as a pilot, is on his wing.

  As Spike brings her bird to angels 34, Chaos asks, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I am. It was my decision. Not the decision of some asshole in a smoke-filled room. While Swede manages pilots, I get to fly.

  “Why are we going back to DC?”

  “I don’t know. I was told I’m dining at the White House.”

  “Did you tell them to fuck off?”

  “No. I get the feeling…Klindt and Lee know what they’re doing.”

  “Roger that.”

  I-400, JAPANESE SUBMARINE 300 MILES SOUTH OF KYUSHU

  0755, 13 January, 1943

  The submarine wallows in the big Pacific swells. Captain Sato uses the periscope to take a sun sighting, then he checks it to the chart. He then confirms his compass heading, “Align the stabilized radio mast to 265. Just south of west.”

  “Aligned, Captain.”

  Sato, “Right rudder. New course 265.”

  “Right rudder. New course 265. Rudder is right standard.” Two minutes later, “Steady on course 265.”

  “Check the stabilized radio mast.”

  “Mast is 265, sir.”

  “Open the hanger door and prepare missile 1.”

  On the deck, a large door opens. A section of track extends and a V-1 missile slides out. The missile is locked in place and the track retreats. The door shuts. An operator inside the magazine reports, “Missile on the rail with wings extended and locked.”

  Captain Sato, “Final checks?”

  “Missile is live and talking to us. Frequency is set. Go launch.”

  “Mast 265. Go launch.”

  “Launch configuration correct. Go launch.”

  “Radio reports 401 is illuminating. Go launch.”

  Sato pushes the button. “Launch 1.”

  On the rail, the missile’s jet engine spools up, pushing against the stop. Then a booster rocket above the engine fires, blistering the door. The stop releases and the missile shoots off the rail. The booster expends its fuel and falls away. The missile accelerates away on its main engine. When it hits its programed altitude, it begins searching for the radio beam. When it centers on the beam, it begins a slow climb.

  Forty miles north, the 401, on a different frequency, fires its missile. The radar beams cross over a rocky island eighty miles away.

  BRIDGE, JAPANESE BATTLESHIP KIRISHIMA

  Marshal Admiral Mineichi Koga studies the island ten miles ahead with his binoculars. Over the thrum of ventilation and the swish of the waves, he hears the buzzing roar of the missile’s engines. When a missile crosses the radar beam from the other submarine, the missile’s engine goes to idle and the controls point the missile downward. Both missiles shut off their engines and dive. They do not tumble. They fly in a straight line to the ground. As they accelerate, air brakes extend to keep the nose down. When they hit the island, there is two rising balls of fire. A shock wave pours out onto the sea and hits the battleship.

  The captain smiles, “They work.”

  Koga nods in satisfaction, “Yes, they do. We must now finish the preparations for Fire Storm. Los Angeles will soon be a cinder.”

  FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, DC

  1130, 12 January, 1943

  Director, Naval Investigative Service, Donald Matthew walks into Director Herbert Hoover’s outer office. “Is the Director in?” He flashes his badge.

  “Yes, one moment.” A few minutes later, Matthew is ushered into Hoover’s inner office.

  Hoover, “How may I help you?”

  Matthew, “I need a favor. What can you tell me about Quincy Diggs and Senator Russell?”

  Hoover smiles, “That’s a big favor.”

  “Sir, it’s about conspiracy to commit rape and aggravated assault.”

  “Diggs? Russell? You better have solid evidence for that. Anyway, Diggs is so henpecked I can’t even imagine it. Besides, that’s my patch.”

  “The victim is a service woman.”

  “Ah, Commander Hunt. Diggs has been trying to get her to resign. They took it that far?”

  “We already have one confession.”

  “Understood, I think? Diggs?” He pushes the intercom button on his desk, “Bring me the Diggs file.”

  “No, the underling that he hired.”

  Hoover, “I wouldn’t go after Russell unless your case is absolutely solid.”

  “I’m thinking a few harsh words about consequences should do the trick. The thing is, Diggs is a civil servant during a war. I’m contemplating using the new UCMJ on him. I want to see if the courts will allow it.”

  “So, the minimum goal is a firing.”

  “It is.”

  The secretary brings in the file and Hoover hands it to Matthews. “Thank you, Director.”

  As soon as Matthew is in his car, and his driver has pulled away from the FBI headquarters, he reads the file.

  NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE, CORONADO, CALIFORNIA

  1200, 12 January, 1943

  Lieutenant Commander Gloria Houlihan knocks on the door of a SEAL team squad room. Four SEALs are reading or cleaning gear. They all have wet hair. She asks, “Where can I find Lieutenant Buford?”

  Ensign Zookowski says, “He’ll be back from the showers in a minute, ma’am. You want some coffee?”

  Gloria smiles, “If it’s drinkable. I heard you SEALs like tar.”

  Zoo stands and pours her a cup, “How do you like it?”

  “Sweet and blond, if that’s okay.”

  He doctors her coffee and hands it to her just as Buford walks in. Buford stops, startled, “Ma’am?”

  Gloria, “Jere, we need to talk. Sam lands at Miramar tomorrow at about three o’clock. Two days after that, she’ll be at sea. If you’re going to do this, now is the time.”

  “Should I meet her on the flight line?”

  “Sure. Keep in mind, she has a squadron to run.”

  He nods, “I want to have the bonfire tomorrow night. How many of her friends can you get there?” His smile lights the room. “And, Commander, thank you.”

  NAS BOLLING, WASHINGTON, DC

  1650, 12 January, 1943

  Commander Hunt walks out of the hanger head in her dinner dress uniform. Cooper comes to her side, “They sent a car. Berthing for the squadron is sorted. Cuddles is getting all the birds inspected and refueled. Blackburn is turning on a couple of Air Force refueling birds for the cross-country flight tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Cooper.”

  “Why didn’t you take Cuddles or Chaos as your plus one?”

  “During the dinner, we’re doing something I don’t want anyone else painted with.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She steps into the car and is driven to the White House.

  WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC

  1730, 12 January, 1943

  The driver goes into the gate for the East Wing. A steward ushers her in and takes her to Mrs. Roosevelt’s office. He kn
ocks and opens the door, “Ma’am. Commander Hunt.”

  Eleanor rises, “Thank you, Antonio. Tea, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Eleanor smiles at Sam, “Sit, please. We’ve a few minutes before we have to go upstairs.”

  Sam sits and Antonio silently serves the tea and leaves.

  Eleanor, “What brought about the change of heart, Samantha?”

  Sam smiles and sips her tea, “I have no idea. Klindt and Lee told me to come, so I’m here.”

  “You follow what they say without question?”

  “I do.”

  Eleanor nods, “Are you aware that they invited Senator Russell as well?”

  “I think that was the point. They haven’t filled me in on their plan. That may be to give me deniability if it goes south.”

  “Do you think he will be rude to you? He’s a southern gentleman.”

  “I know. I met his chief of staff. He suggested I go back to the farm.”

  “We’ve learned that the senator lied about having fifty-one votes. We need fifty-eight and have fifty-seven. Are you assuming the admirals are going to sway the senator’s vote?”

  “I’ve no idea. I do know we have an unprompted, signed confession from Major Pettigrew that implicates Mr. Diggs.”

  DIGGS HOME

  Diggs enjoys his after-dinner brandy while his wife is cleaning up in the kitchen. He hears a knock on the front door and gets up to answer it. Three men in suits are standing on his front porch, “May I help you?”

  The man in front shows his badge, “Hello. Quincy Diggs? I’m Director Matthew of the Naval Investigative Service. Would you please come with us?”

  Mrs. Diggs walks up behind her husband “Who are you?”

  Matthew, “We are Navy Special Agents, ma’am. We need to speak with your husband.”

  She looks at her husband’s pale face, “Don’t go Quincy. They’re Navy. You don’t have to.”

  Matthew, “Mrs. Diggs, I’m being polite. To be clear, I have a warrant and your husband is coming with us. In cuffs, or without them. His choice.”

  Mrs. Diggs, “What for?”

  Matthew, “Conspiracy to commit aggravated rape.”

  Diggs, “I didn’t rape anyone.”

  Matthew, “That is what the warrant is for. Please, come with me.”

  Looking ill, Diggs looks at his wife. She stares at Matthew. “You know, he’s on the senate staff. He’s immune from this kind of thing. Leave my house.”

  Matthew smiles, “The Senator enjoys certain immunities.” He raises his voice, “As you are being uncooperative, Mr. Diggs, put your hands against the wall!”

  Diggs immediately does so. One of the other agents cuffs him and walks him out to their car. Matthew, “Good evening, Mrs. Diggs.”

  RESIDENCE, WHITE HOUSE

  Samantha and Eleanor walk up the west sitting room where the men are enjoying cocktails. A steward announces them, and President Roosevelt, at the bar, asks, “Martini, dear? Commander, I make a mean martini.”

  Sam smiles, feeling a little pressure as King, Klindt, Lee, Senator Russell, and their wives, and Admiral Leahy are all looking at her, “Sir, ginger ale, please. I fly tomorrow.”

  Roosevelt, “Come now. You can have one drink.”

  “No, sir. I cannot have alcohol today. I appreciate the offer.”

  Roosevelt nods, “Well, I’ll not counter flight rules. Please, sit down.”

  The steward hands Sam a glass of ginger ale, after she sits in an overstuffed arm chair. “Thank you.”

  Roosevelt takes a sip of his own drink, “Ahhhh. Well, Commander, you’ve had an eventful year.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve had a lot to do. My squadrons have performed extraordinarily well.”

  Klindt, “Very true, but you, too, have performed extraordinarily well. Don’t you think, Senator Russell?”

  Russell grimaces, “I’m not a military man, so I can’t speak to her record.” He puts down his glass, “Is this what this is about? Introducing me to her in hopes of changing my vote. It won’t work.”

  Eleanor, “Senator, I had hoped you might see your decision as having consequences. We may well disagree, but I have always thought you a southern gentleman.”

  Russell looks at Eleanor and smiles, “I am. I always will be. No southern gentleman would allow his womenfolk to do his fighting for him. I do recognize that there are northerners who see it differently.”

  King, “It sounds that you’ve personalized this situation. You’re still young enough. I take it you intend to resign your position in the senate and join the services?”

  Russell laughs, “No. War is a young man’s game. We’ve plenty of men to do the fighting, and most would do a better job than Commander Hunt. No offense.” He looks directly at Sam, “You know, you would serve the war better in an office or as a wife.”

  Sam, shocked, sits back and sips her drink. She holds Russell’s gaze. “I see. It doesn’t matter what I, or any woman, have done in this war, does it, Senator. Women have died for our freedom. They have spilled their blood. But, you…you sit up there in your ivory tower and deign to disrespect them, when you have never put your life on the line for anyone. Am I wrong, Senator?”

  Russell, shaken, “How dare you.”

  Sam, “I only tell the truth, Senator.”

  Russell looks at Lee, who’s stone faced, “It’s tragic that American manhood has stooped so low in our future as to require of their women such behavior. Can you explain it, Admiral Lee? How did the1990 American man become so neutered as to ask women to fight for them?”

  Lee smiles, “We have a word for it. We call it intelligence. You’re judging a time you know nothing about. There’s more coming. The civil rights movement. Race riots. The excesses of our government that introduced distrust. All in the name of maintaining a status quo that was outdated and wrong. Still, we grew and learned. In my time, southern schools are integrated. The black vote, the Latino vote, the Asian vote are significant in our elections. We’re a true melting pot and America is stronger for it. There are still significant race problems, but we’re getting there. Women and blacks are lawyers, doctors, generals, and admirals. It’s the legacy of your generation that casts a stain on the future.”

  Russell looks down, his face red with anger, “That’s wrong. We must keep things as they are.”

  Klindt looks at him, sorrowful, “It can’t remain the same. Change is the only constant. We have a racial pot on the stove with a tight lid. It’s a legacy of the original sin of slavery. The pressure is building and soon, it will explode. The harder you fight to keep things the same, the more the pressure builds. What can be done is to slowly relieve the pressure. You do that by granting all citizens equal rights and equal access to the resources we all need to succeed.”

  Eleanor, “It’s exactly what we are fighting for in this war, for freedom and equality.”

  Russell takes a deep breath. “I do not agree with any of this. But, as we are having dinner in the White House, I will be civil.”

  Roosevelt, “Exactly, Senator. We have negroes, Hispanics, and Asian Americans fighting for the freedom of others, but they’re being denied that same freedom at home, in the land of the free. Something to think about. I pray we can do better.”

  A steward announces dinner. Sam is seated between Eleanor and Lee. During dinner, the conversation is restrained and polite

  NIS HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, DC

  Quincy Diggs sits across from Director Matthew who’s reading a word for word transcript of Diggs conversation with Commander Hunt on the train to Tennessee. When he finishes, he asks, “Shall I move to the transcripts of every meeting you had with Major Pettigrew?”

  Diggs, “What do you want. I don’t know any Major Pettigrew.”

  Matthew smiles, “First, understand that your life is over. We’ve compiled enough evidence to put you in a military prison for twenty years. A guy like you, how well do you think you’d survive prison?”

  “B
ut, I’m a civilian.”

  “Yes, you are, but you’re also a civil servant. The UCMJ made it clear that a civil servant can be convicted in a court martial if their crime involves the military. How do you think things will go with a guy like you surrounded by military criminals? You know, tough, dangerous men.”

  “But, the guards?”

  “Oh, they prefer a hands-off approach. After all, how can you stop true love?”

  Diggs starts shaking, “Really?”

  “Tell me the role Senator Russell played in this whole mess. If you give me what I want, and need, I promise we will go light on you.”

  Diggs, shaking, writes out his complete confession and signs it.

  Matthew looks it over, “Good. Thank you. We’ll place you in a holding cell for now. I need to confirm this.”

  WHITE HOUSE DINING ROOM

  Toward the end of dinner, an aid comes in and hands a message to Lee.

  All is confirmed. Diggs confessed. Russell instigated all actions.

  M

  Lee hands the message to Klindt, reads it and passes it to King. King reads it and hands it to the President. Roosevelt reads it and puts it in his pocket. When dinner is finished, Roosevelt says, “Shall we retire for coffee. Perhaps we can finish our earlier conversation.”

  The guests follow the President and Eleanor to the sitting room and the staff serves coffee. When everyone is settled in, Roosevelt studies Russell. “Tell me, Senator, is a sitting senator immune from criminal prosecution?”

  All eyes are on the senator. Russell swallows, looking around the room. “No, sir. They are not.”

  Roosevelt, “Admiral Lee, could you discuss the charges we’re talking about.”

  Lee, “Conspiracy to commit rape of a service member. Conspiracy to disrupt military operations. Providing aid and comfort to the enemy. Finally, treason.”

  Russell scowls, “There’s no way anything like that would ever stick. I did nothing wrong.”

  Lee looks around at the fascinated faces, “You charged your chief of staff to arrange the rape, and/or assault of a naval officer. Doing so disrupted the bond tour, which is a military operation, as well as delaying a military operation in the Pacific while we’ve had to investigate the charges. You attempted, via a conspiracy, to remove a high value asset whose presence intimidates the enemies she faces. To quote General Eisenhower, ‘She’s worth a fighter wing.’ We have the confessions of Major Pettigrew and Mr. Quincy Diggs, your chief of staff. It’s enough to charge you. Whether you are convicted or not, your political career is over.”