by M. L. Maki
FISHERMAN’S QUAY, WARNEMÜNDE, GERMANY ON THE BALTIC SEA
2012, 24 July, 1942
SS-Hauptsturmführer Erik Seidel helps his men finish unloading fish. “West is no good. We need to search east of the light house.”
SS-Rottenführer Richter is cleaning the hold, “Can we fishermen enjoy a night on the town before we head out?”
Seidel, “We can.”
DINNING ROOM, THE SAVOY, LONDON
1810, 25 July, 1942
Mike, in his service dress whites, and Laureen in a cream dress, come down for dinner.
Laureen, “I feel a bit out of place here. I don’t have the clothes for London.”
Mike, “You’re the most beautiful woman here.” The maître d seats them for dinner. When their waiter appears, Mike asks, “Is there wine?”
“Sir, we do have some champagne, but not much else. We can offer cocktails or whiskey.”
“Oh,” He looks at Laureen, and grins, “Champagne it is. Thank you.”
Prime Minister Winston Churchill walks in with some of his cabinet. As they walk by, Mike makes eye contact with the Prime Minister.
Churchill stops, “Young man, are you one of Commodore Holtz’s men?”
“Yes, sir. Ensign Mike Brown, sir. This is my wife Laureen.”
“A pleasure. Ah, you’re enjoying a honeymoon and well you should. What do you fly?”
Mike lower’s his voice, “I’m with the San Francisco, sir.”
“Ah, I see. Would you indulge an old man and join us at our table?”
“Of course, sir.” They find themselves escorted to a private table. Ernest Hemmingway, waiting for his meal, takes in the scene.
Churchill, “I recognize we are somewhat public. That said, what could you share about your unique, ahem, aircraft.” He smiles.
Mike, “It’s faster, quieter, and the sensors are vastly superior to the enemy, sir.”
“May I inquire of your expertise?”
“The, um, radar, sir. I was briefing Captain Creasy the other day.”
“Ah, yes. I read your report. Quite good. Quite good. So, how did you two meet?”
As their food is served, Laureen replies, “I lived with my father-in-law near where Michael’s, um, plane is.” She smiles. “My first husband served on the Hood, sir.”
Churchill, “A true tragedy. The nation wept for your loss. I am delighted, though, that you have found love again.”
Michael, “Thank you, sir.”
Churchill, “Have you met the Commodore, then?”
“Yes, sir. He, um, went up with us on the matter of a German battleship.”
“Ah, yes. That was a fine bit of work indeed. I am quite impressed.” Churchill smiles, “John, I need to get up there and meet these folks. They have done us an extraordinary service.”
General John Kennedy, Director of Plans for the War Office, says, “Yes, sir. We’ll arrange it.”
Churchill, “Is there a wedding gift I may grant you two?”
Michael, “Could Laureen receive British citizenship. She put in for it a long time ago.”
Churchill, “Not American?”
Michael, “She has a son, Jean Luc, by her first marriage. He is all Sheamus has of his son. Neither of us will take Jean Luc away from his grandfather.”
Churchill, “What was your first husband’s name, ma’am?”
Laureen, “Lieutenant William Stewart, Royal Navy.”
Churchill, “Alexander?”
Alexander Cadogan, Permanent Undersecretary at the Foreign Office, “I will sort it, sir.”
“Make certain Ensign Brown gets a permanent visa as well.”
CAFÉ, DUNOON, SCOTLAND
1232, 26 July, 1942
LCDR Greg Backes, wearing his khaki uniform, sits down and orders.
He opens a worn copy of Louis L’Amour’s ‘Fair Blows the Wind’ and reads. A little girl comes in with her mother and immediately runs up to Greg, “What are you reading?”
He finds himself looking into the sparkling green eyes of a beautiful red-haired child. A woman, with matching green eyes, takes the girls hand, “I’m sorry sir.”
Greg looks, “It’s not a problem. What’s her name?”
“I’m Trisha.”
Greg smiles, “Hi, Trisha. My name is Greg.”
“Are you a Yank?”
The mother, “I’m sorry.”
Greg looks back into those green eyes, “I very much miss my son, Travis. Please, join me. I do not at all mind the questions.”
She seats her daughter and sits, “My name is Catherine.”
“Greg, and yes, I’m a Yank.”
Trisha, “Are you on a boat?”
Greg, “That is exactly what I’m on, a boat.”
The waitress takes their order. Trisha asks, “Are you from New York?”
“No, I’m from a small town in Oregon.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s clear across the country from New York, on the Pacific Ocean.”
“Oh. What do you do there?”
Greg smiles, “Well Trisha, I’m not there now. Most of the people there are farmers or loggers.”
“Oh. What does your father do?”
“Well, right now he’s six years old, so like you, he goes to school. That, and he works on my grandpa’s farm.”
Trisha, “You’re older than your father. That doesn’t make any sense.”
Greg, “It makes sense if I came back in time.”
Catherine, “Oh! You’re a time traveler?”
Greg nods, “I was born in 1956.” He shows her his driver’s license.
Catherine hands it back, “Oh. Do we win?”
“Everything has changed. In my timeline, the war ended in August, 1945.This time, who knows.”
“How does the world change?”
Greg, “That’s a huge question. I don’t remember enough British history to speak well about what happens here. I know a little about the royal family, because they’re always in the news.”
Their food arrives.
Catherine asks, “How does technology change?”
Greg, “Air travel becomes normal, fast, and reliable. Electronics revolutionizes all of life. Radio is mostly replaced by television. Over here it’s with the BBC. With TV, you can watch a movie on a smaller screen in your home. They create serial TV shows. It’s paid for by advertising and makes tons of money. It also becomes addictive to some folks and causes kids to spend, in my opinion, too much time inside.
“The market for consumer products explodes. Many make life for women easier. Electric powered washing and drying machines, electric ovens and cook tops, dish washers, efficient refrigerators, electric hair dryers, electric vacuum cleaners, and more.
“In the fifties, Russia launches the first man made satellite to orbit the earth. In the sixties, America lands men on the moon. Once it’s done, we turn our back on most space exploration.
“After the war there is a huge baby boom. Also, after the war most of the working women lose their jobs, so men can have them. The fifties feel like a world of endless possibilities. In the sixties, the bill comes due for how minorities and women were treated. There’s a huge backlash against authority. In the seventies, there is an energy crisis that tumbles the economy for a while. Not a great depression, just a downturn. In the eighties things smooth out some.”
Catherine, “Do they throw out the King?”
“Oh, no. The pomp and ceremony fascinate Americans and drives an enormous tourist industry. I think in the early fifties, the King dies and Queen Elizabeth is crowned. I don’t know how old she is now.”
“She is sixteen.”
“Okay, anyway, she does well. She navigates her family through many, many issues with a strong hand.”
“Does she marry?”
“Yeah, I forget his name. All I recall is he got pissed off when she refused to give him the throne. Their kids stay Windsor’s. She has several. The only one I remember is Charles. I
remember him because his wife was gorgeous and kind. Her name was Diana.”
Trisha, “You’re smart. Mummy, can we take him home?”
Greg, “I’m sure your daddy might not like that.” He smiles.
She looks down, “My father is dead. He was shot down.”
Greg, “I’m so sorry. That is very hard.”
Trisha, “Mummy, can we take him home. I could show him my shell collection.”
Catherine, “I am certain he is too busy to come see your shells, dear.”
Greg, “Where did you get them?”
Trisha, “All over. Father and I would walk on the beach and we would find pretty ones. Some are from his friends in Australia, and France, and even America.”
“Wow. It must be a nice collection. Ma’am, I wouldn’t want to be a bother, or put you in a terrible position, but I have the time, if it isn’t too far.”
Catherine, “It isn’t. It’s about ten miles away. You are most welcome.”
Greg, “I have my own car. How do I get there?”
DRY DOCK FLOOR, UNDER THE STERN OF THE USS SAN FRANCISCO
1303, 26 July, 1942
Maki guides the forklift operator as he positions the forks under the rigging gear. On the pallet is the actuating mechanism for a leg.
Maki closes his fist, the signal to stop. He spins his index finger pointing down, and the operator slowly lowers the load. Once on the deck, Maki makes a pushing motion and the fork truck backs out. The riggers hook up the straps to their chain falls.
A petty officer approaches and salutes, “Sir, we’re having a problem with routing the power cables on the Livermore for the launcher.”
Maki, “Give me a minute. This project is the priority.”
GLENLEAN MANOR, NORTH OF HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND
1320, 26 July, 1942
Greg pulls onto the driveway of a manor house. It is set on a hill overlooking a small valley. It is the only house around. The house is two stories and made entirely of gray stone. It has a four-story stone tower on its north side. Nearby are a barn and outbuildings. He sees the Ford pickup she was driving.
He walks to the front door and Catherine appears, “Welcome to Glenlean Manor.”
Greg looks around, “Thank you. Is this your home?”
“My father’s. Please come in.”
“Thank you.” The entry hall is two stories high with a grand stairway and several doors opening into other rooms. There is a large portrait on the wall. “Wow. How old is it?”
Trisha joins them and waits.
“The painting? The portrait was done in 1623. If you meant the house, it was extensively remodeled in 1864, but the original manor was built in 1403. The lands were granted by King Robert the Third in 1398.”
“Jesus, your house is older than my country.”
“We live with our history.” An older copy of Catherine joins them, “May I introduce you to my mother, Lady Mary Glenlean. Mother, this is Lieutenant Commander Greg Backes. Mother, Patricia invited him to see her collection.”
“I’m honored to meet you, Ma’am.”
Mary, “Thank you for coming. We get so few guests. Would you care for tea?”
Greg, “Thank you, ma’am. I don’t wish you to go through a bother on my account.”
Mary, “Please, Commander, it’s nothing. Patricia darling, could you help me with the tea?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The two leave.
Catherine says, “The drawing room is over here.” She guides him into a smallish room with painted wood paneling.
“Wow.”
Catherine, “You know, it’s home to me, but I would suppose it’s quite different than your home in America.”
“There are nice homes in America. I grew up in a farmhouse. It was comfy, I suppose, but only a quarter of this size.”
“As manor houses go, this one is quite on the small size. It’s in keeping with our status. We are near the bottom rung of noble society.”
Greg, “I know almost nothing about how that all works. I know many in America would think it important, but it isn’t something I’ve ever studied. About all I know is, it’s complicated.”
She smiles, “It’s that. My father is the 16th Baron of Glenlean. Not that it is any help to him. We were told he was captured in Burma.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. The POW’s there had a very bad time.”
“It’s what we fear.”
“Do you have a brother?”
“He was lost in Africa. We’ve been at war for some time. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Greg, “Don’t apologize. You’re right. The American people were so myopically self-centered, they couldn’t see that what befell France could befall us all. Evil men thrive when honest men are silent.”
“Still, I shouldn’t criticize our benefactors.”
“Can I ask where you were educated?”
“I attended Saint Hilda's in Oxford. You?”
“University of Oregon. My major was, um, a course of study that doesn’t exist now. Well, it was closest to mechanical engineering and physics.”
“What do you do for the Navy?”
“I am the executive officer of the San Francisco. One of the boats in Holy Loch.”
“The black one?”
“Yes.”
Mary and Trisha join them carrying a tray with tea and cakes. Mary serves the tea, “I’m sorry, we don’t have sugar, but there is milk.”
Greg, “Thank you, ma’am. Plain is fine.”
Catherine, “Mother, Greg is the executive Officer of the San Francisco. The black ship.”
Mary, “Oh, my. It’s so different from other Navy vessels.”
“Yes ma’am, it is.”
Mary, “Has your ship been very successful, Commander?”
“Many sailors brag about their kills; the ships and submarines they successfully sink. It’s a mark of success, but it also ignores the human toll each kill involves. Ma’am, one thing I am proud of, the recent period without any submarine attacks was brought about by our success. We sank so many submarines, they recalled the rest to re-equip them.”
Mary, “Oh my. Please know, we do not revel in the defeat of the Germans. As an island nation, though, we depend completely on the convoys. It is life for us.”
He smiles, “At least what we are doing makes a difference. This is very good tea.”
Mary, “Try the cakes. Catherine made them. They are divine.” She smiles, “We have our own hives, so, she used honey.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes a taste and his eyes open wide, “Oh, wow. This is amazing.”
Catherine, “Thank you.”
Greg asks, “Catherine, I forgot to ask. What was your major?”
“Estate Management.”
“That makes perfect sense. Do you have help to handle the farm?”
Catherine, “We do. We have a farm manager and a couple of part time assistants. Labor is hard to find right now.”
Greg, “It would be. The military gets first go.”
Trisha, “May I show him my shells, now?”
Catherine, “Go ahead, dear.”
He lets her lead him up to the top floor of the tower.
Once he and Trisha are out of ear shot, Catherine says, “He grew up on a farm, and has an engineering degree.”
Mary, “He is handsome, and a commander.”
“I know.”
USS LIVERMORE, PORT SIDE OF USS BEAVER
1132, 28 July, 1942
Lt. JG Maki watches carefully as the launch arm lowers down onto the prototype missile launcher. The rigger motions to stop lowering. Maki moves in to watch the mechanic insert the pin. The pin goes part way in, and sticks. The mechanic grabs a hammer.
Maki, “Hold on.” He puts a hand on the launch arm and jiggles it, “Push.”
A few more shakes, and the pin slides in. The mechanic says, “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Finesse, not force.”
CHAPTER 10
GRAND ENTRANCE, THE SAVOY, LONDON
0720, 29 July, 1942
Mike and Laureen walk out to their car. Laureen in a grey wool skirt, white blouse, and a light blue cardigan, and Mike in his khaki uniform.
Laureen, “It amazes me that the guards agreed to let us have a tour of the Tower.”
Mike, “I know.” They get in their car and start working their way to the Tower of London. Most of the streets are cleared of debris, but signs of the blitz are everywhere. After a while he stops, “Did I take a wrong turn?”
“I don’t know.”
They hear the shriek of a high-performance jet. They look up and see ahead of them a delta winged jet with iron crosses on it. It turns and climbs, then explodes as an F-14 shoots by.
“We need to find a shelter.” He accelerates, “They used the subways. Help me look.”
He swerves around a corner and is barely able to stop as a building comes down in front of them. Dust and debris billow out. They see people, covered in plaster and ash, struggling out of the tumbled mess.
Laureen, “Oh, my God, Mike. Oh, they’re hurt. We have to help them.”
They get out and run to toward the burning building. Mike shifts to triage mode, “Are you okay, sir?” A nodded head. “Are you Okay, ma’am?” Another nodded head.
He hears a woman screaming, “My baby! My baby!”
He runs to her, “Where, ma’am?”
She points to a partially open window on the third story of the burning brick building. Mike fights his way across the debris and climbs up the outside of the building, using the bricks for hand and foot holds. He gets to the window and manages to push it open. Laureen sees smoke billow out of the window as Mike climbs in, disappearing from sight. She breathes, “Be all right. Please, be all right.”
The woman beside her goes to her knees. Much of her hair is burned off, her hands covered in burns, “My baby.” Coughing, she holds her arms against her chest, desperate for air.
Laureen kneels next to her, “Ma’am, my husband will save her. I just know it.”
Around them people are digging through the rubble searching for survivors. They hear the sound of an ambulance in the distance. The woman looks at Laureen, coughing, “I’m just burned. Oh God, my baby.”
Someone shouts, “There he is!” Mike appears at the window with a child tucked against his chest inside his khaki uniform jacket. The thick smoke clears for a moment, and flames appear behind him.
