ATTACK OF THE GREYHOUNDS
A Novel by
H. Nelson Freeman
This book is a work of fiction, except for historical places, events, and battles. The U.S.S. Dayton A. Hallis DD-543 and U.S.S Anthony D. Agar DD-548 are fictional ships with unused hull numbers Officers and enlisted men, and other characters in this writing are of the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, locals, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © by H. Nelson Freeman 2019
First edition
ISBN: 9781676475422
Cover design by H. Nelson Freeman
I am most grateful to:
Dawn Hall for her valuable assistance
The Iowa Writer’s Corner for support and instruction
Maggie Rivers for the years of support and guidance
My family for their support and continued input
To all those friends who urge me to continue in this work
“Virtus Libertas est, per Maria”
Freedom of the Seas is a Virtue
ATTACK OF THE GREYHOUNDS
CHAPTER ONE
Arnie Lanner stepped gingerly off his ship for the last time. He joined the Royal Navy in nineteen-fourteen to fight the Germans, and he was stuck on a hard-luck pile of junk. The “L” class destroyer was built in England to replace the previous series. Since the beast’s commissioning, it spent more days in repairs than fighting the Kaiser. Lanner’s hands constantly hurt from busting his knuckles while effecting repairs on the hard-luck ship. While their ship was in a fight with a German destroyer in nineteen-sixteen, he suffered an injury from a chunk of sizzling steel from a German shell that exploded just outside the engine room. Shrapnel penetrated the hull and ripped into his leg.
Following surgery, he knew his naval career was over, and the Royal Navy thanked him for his service to the King. He earned a medal and paid passage to America. Out of frustration and a bit of self-pity, Arnie headed for that place where he knew love and understanding, home. For the former sailor, it was Iowa. “Where to sailor?” The ticket master asked, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked over Arnie’s Royal Navy uniform.
“I’m headed home to America.”
He held up his crutches, and the ticket master nodded, then said, “Thanks, Yank, you did us a great service coming over here to fight in our war.”
“It will be all our war soon, and I just wanted to be established before the mob hit.”
“You hurt badly?”
“Enough that the surgeon said I couldn’t sail again and discharged me for medical reasons.”
“Sorry, you had that happen. You know, many of us still believe we’re brothers, you Yanks and us.”
“Aye, that we are. Have a good one.” Then Arnie Lanner hobbled toward the gangway of the passenger ship that would take him home. Once aboard, his first thought was to get some civilian clothes.
Two weeks later, after dodging a couple of the Kaiser’s submarines, the big liner pulled into New York. Arnie got a taxi to take him to the Grand Central Station, where he boarded the New York Central Railroad for Chicago. Two days later, he switched to the Chicago North Western Railway, which would take him to Ames, Iowa.
In Chicago, he had a couple of hour’s layover. A ticket master taking his break saw Arnie’s crutches and the seabag he had that bore the name, HMS LEIGHTNER, for the ship on which he served. “Hey, sailor, mind if I ask where you’re from?”
“Ames, Iowa, Arnie answered, as he set his crutches against the booth.
“Going home to recoup?”
“Naw, a German shell made it permanent.”
“Sorry to hear that, but on the other hand, maybe it’s a blessing.”
“Yeah, it could be at that, I was in some sea battles and survived when a lot of guys didn’t. You’re right; it is a blessing.” Arnie said with a smile.
The ticket master said, “You’re in luck, this train will take you to Ames, you should get there by…” looking at his pocket watch, “six-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Is there a telegraph here?”
“Sure, just around that corner,” he said, pointing toward an archway.
Arnie grabbed his crutches, “Is it safe to let these bags stay a moment while I send a telegraph?”
“I’m on break, I’ll just sit here and read the paper, but mind you I do have to get back to the booth in ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the most.”
“I’ll get back,” A minute later, he was making out a short telegraph to be sent to his home.”
He got back and thanked the ticket master.
“It’s an honor to help you, now get on the train and go home. I’ll bet you have a pretty lassie waiting for ya.”
Arnie pulled out his ticket and gear, and made it to the train and boarded while a baggage attendant loaded his heavier bags.
Arnie sat in a soft seat next to the window. He reminisced about his life on the family farm and, as a youngster, the good and bad times. In all, better than what he had experienced in the past two and a half years.
The weather was warmer in Iowa, and he was getting uncomfortable in his English clothes. He had received a couple of questioning looks and remembered people in foreign clothing were a bit out of the norm.
His mind’s eye floated back to his days in the one-room schoolhouse and the long hours of classes, and short time of enjoying friends.
A young Tilly Mason was in his classes, and in their younger years, he treated her like the rest of his schoolmates. During their junior and senior years, they became friends, and before the school year was over, they were dating, such as they were allowed.
World War I blasted Europe, while America watched. He decided to join the Royal Navy to fight the Kaiser’s legions. During the entire time, he was overseas, Tilly, and Arnie kept up constant communications. The mail usually took up to a month or more to reach its destination due to the long distances. He even taped a photo of her to a beam just over his hammock, where he could see her every time he turned in. While in a barracks following his leg surgery, Arnie wrote Tilly a letter, telling her when he would be home, but did not mention his wounds or how seriously he was hurt.
Tilly was committed to having Arnie Lanner as her husband, even before he left for England. She made sure he was aware of that in most of her letters. Arnie felt the same way and maintained control of himself during his service years. Now being on his way home, he wondered if it was all true.
He learned later that when Tilly heard, he was coming home; she asked her father to take her to the train stop. Robert Mason owned the farm next to the Lanners and were longtime friends of Darlene and Robert, both men preferred the name, Bob. The two families, prepared for the eventual marriage of the youngsters, they set aside land and built a beginning home for them.
Arnie hopped down the steps of the train onto the platform. He had to regain his balance once he was on the ground. Tilly, seeing the crutches, ran to him with questions about his injuries. Then she grabbed him and held him tightly as she locked his lips with hers.
Darlene Mason covered her smile with her hand while Bob smiled approvingly. Tilly’s parents stepped up, and Bob shook Arnie’s hand just as another carriage pulled up. Arnie’s parents hurried to their son, not knowing in advance of his injuries either.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt, Arnie?”
“I didn’t want you to get upset; besides, it got me home for good, so I figured it would be a good surprise.”
“I don’t know about that, but we’re so relieved to have you home. And Tilly has been on pins and needles with all of this.”
Tilly and Arnie remained in residence with their respective parents, all of
whom were serious Christians. Six months later, Tilly and Arnie married and moved into the home built for them. Both parents donated a hundred-fifty-acres for the new couple to begin their lives together.
****
July 16, nineteen-seventeen saw the birth of their first son, Christopher Robert Lanner. Two days later, the proud parents saw Christopher christened in their church. Six years later found Chris helping about the farm, then his brother, Jason, joined the family. Two years later, a sister Tilly named Alienor, joined the two boys. Her name is from the ancient English spelling.
The entire family worked at making the farm a success, despite the economic and environmental impact of the drought. By age nine, Christopher was easily handling the family's Case tractor and showed great promise in repairing anything.
Chris always enjoyed the Iowa State Fair in August. The multitude of things on display, the parade, the shows, but above all, the air shows. He loved to watch the barnstormers and acrobatics. His passion for having and flying his own plane bypassed the enjoyment of watching them. He began setting aside every penny and dime he could. Unknown to him, his father Arnie threw in some money as well. He took Chris to town and opened two accounts, one to learn how to manage his money, the other a savings for things like an airplane.
Chris’ interest had him looking for a plane by the time he was eleven; he learned the Army had a warehouse full of new Jenny bi-planes, still in the crate at Camp Dodge, for three-hundred dollars each. By age sixteen, he contacted the Army warehouse and found they still hand three dozen planes in their inventory.
He talked to Army Lieutenant Roland Hilmember, “Good afternoon, sir. My name is Christopher Lanner, and I’m interested in purchasing a Jenny. I’ve been saving for five years to buy one.”
“How old are you, Mr. Lanner?”
“Sixteen, sir. I’ve been studying for two years about planes and how to fly one.”
“Well, Mr. Lanner, the price of a new Jenny was marked at three-hundred-dollars, but this week we received a call to up the price to five-hundred.”
After a minute, the officer said, are you there?”
A broken-hearted sounding voice answered, “Yes, sir. I’ve been saving for years; I even passed my flight test and got my pilot’s license. My dad wanted me to join the Navy, but I wanted to fly, and I was going to join the Army Air Corps.”
“Just a minute, Chris. I want to check something.” Hilmember set the handset down and ran into the warehouse, checking each crate as he went. The crates three-hundred-dollar prices were now marked over with five-hundred dollars written on them. He reached the last line, then saw two crates fifteen feet away. The large invoice name of the buyer had been marked out, apparently due to a sale falling through. The crates still had the original cost on them. Hilmember quickly marked one as sold and added Christopher Lanner as the buyer.
Back in the office, Hilmember picked up the ear-piece and asked, “Are you still there?”
“Yes, sir,” a small sounding voice responded.
“I still have two planes marked at three-hundred dollars. I marked it sold to you. You will have it about two weeks after we receive payment. We will ship it to the address you put in the envelope with the money order.”
Chris was beside himself with the happiness only a young potential pilot could have.
“To pay, get a postal money order for three-hundred dollars payable to the US Government.” The Army Officer gave Chris the address where to send the check. “Now about flying for the Army, when you are of age and have a two-year college degree, you join the Army Reserve. You will have to get into flight school; then, you will have to pick up the other two before you graduate. Hilmember wished Chris the best of luck, then said, “I hope to see you in the air someday.”
“Thank you, sir, I’m looking forward to flying with you.”
The next day Chris and his father went to the bank. Chris asked the teller to check his savings balance. He had two-hundred-seventy-dollars in it. He was heart-broken.
Arnie patted his son's shoulder and placed fifty-dollars in the teller’s cage, “Please put this into his savings account.”
The teller smiled and asked, “Are there any other transaction I can do for you?”
“Yes, ma ’me, I wish to withdraw three-hundred-five dollars.”
“Oh my, are you going to buy your first automobile?”
“No, ma ’me, an airplane.”
The woman gave Arnie a startled look, “Is he old enough to fly?”
“Oh yes, he has a pilot’s license.”
“You must be a very smart young man,” she said.
“I study hard for what’s important.”
“You must be very proud of Chris, Mr. Lanner.”
“I am, thank you.”
Their next stop was the Post Office, where Chris paid for the money order and mailed as soon as it was made out. Chris went about his daily chores and schooling, but his mind wasn’t very far from the day his plane would arrive. Chris began setting every cent aside for oil, fuel, and tuition.
The young would-be flyer came up with an idea of building a simplified simulator he mounted in the loft of their barn. The device had a cockpit containing a stick, rigged by wires and bell cranks to thin wooden ailerons, rudder, and a tailplane. He turned his studies into three dimensional, operating controls that mimicked those of an actual aircraft. He could see how each movement of the stick and rudder pedals changed the position of the rudder and horizontal control surfaces. From that, he could visualize how the impacted surfaces caused the plane to change direction or altitude.
It took only a short time for Chris to grasp the basics of flight. Chris continued his studies and practiced them on the simulator until they became second nature to him. Chris hit on the idea of having input from an external source. He contacted a friend, Ned Herrick.
“Dive, bank left, climb, bank right,” the boy called out. With each order, Chris would place the controls in position, then check the control surfaces. The practice enriched his response to a need, bringing him to an automatic reaction to input. Ned worked with Chris until he, too, was proficient in basic flight control.
Three weeks went by, then a truck drove up the Lanner’s Lane, and two men off-loaded a large crate. The family was amazed. Chris had a real airplane. The day after the crate arrived, Ned joined the family in opening the crate and carefully unloading the parts. Chris laid them in a logical order on the front lawn, then the men of the family, with Ned, began assembling the Jenny according to the instructions that came with the plane.
Arnie asked, “Have you thought of a name for your plane?”
“A name, no; I never thought about it, but if I did, it would be ‘MOM.’
“There’s something else, let’s wire a key into the ignition system. That way, no unauthorized person can slip in and take her while you’re not around.”
“Wow, Dad, that’s a great idea.”
“Wait a minute,” Arnie went into the garage, where he kept a small inventory of parts and auto supplies. After checking through two boxes, he found his quarry. He and Chris spent an hour splicing the key into the ignition system. It was mounted in the engine compartment and hidden from sight.
“Now, when you’re away from the plane, keep the key securely in your pocket, and never tell anyone about its existence. Don’t forget, never make a scene about needing to use your key to close the circuit. All that would do is nullify its value.
“Got it, Dad, thanks.”
That night at the family time with God, everyone asked for a safe test flight for Chris.
The time came for Chris’s first flight. The road in front of the Lanner house was straight, hard-packed clay and dirt and rarely used. The power line to the house was attached to poles set over twenty feet from the road. Its direction was essentially north and south, which took advantage of the predominantly southern wind in the spring and summer.
The entire family stood on the porch, Tilly and Alienor holding hands
, the boys watching with pride and envy. Chris, with his photographic memory, had memorized the accompanying flight manual. He worked hard to settle his high-spirited excitement and forced himself to go through the checks, making sure all connections were solid, controls free to move, then the engine compartment, especially the fuel, water, and oil levels. While there, he closed the key and secured it to a chain around his neck. Taking a deep breath, Chris crawled into the open rear cockpit, which was an exact duplicate of the forward one.
Chris went through the priming sequence and took his second-deep breath, uttered a short prayer for safety, and closed the ignition switch. He called out, “Contact.” And Arnie lifted his leg for an extra pull, and snapped the propeller downward, following through by jumping back. The Curtiss OX-5 V8 caught and started. She quickly settled into a steady idle. Chris let the engine warm-up for several minutes, then inched the throttle forward a notch. The ninety-horsepower engine responded to the increase of air and fuel. The plane bumped its way to the road, where Chris turned her into the flow of the southern breeze. He rotated the stick and kicked the rudders while watching to ensure all were connected. He checked to make sure in his excitement that he didn’t forget to fasten the seat belt. He found he was securely attached to the plane.
‘Well, this is what you wanted. You can’t chicken out now.’ He thought to himself. He pushed the throttle open to the takeoff position and held the stick steady.
The Jenny leaped down the hard-packed roadway, then the tail came off the ground and lifted about a foot. As the light craft gained speed, the lift of the wings began to take the weight of the two-thousand-sixty-pound aircraft, and she lifted into the summer morning.
As the plane gained speed, she tried to turn slightly to the left as he expected. He had read and studied that tendency and was ready for it. The drift has to do with the propeller stream impacting the left side of the fuselage. He climbed slowly to two thousand feet and ran a series of turns and small banking turns to get the feel of the aircraft’s responses.
Attack of the Greyhounds Page 1
