by M L Maki
Schmitt smiles, “Perhaps.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
2258, 21 December, 1941
EM1(SS) Stan Wankowski sits in the enlisted mess and tries reading a Robert Heinlein novel. His eyes are unfocused and filled with tears. He wipes his face and focuses on the words.
His chief, EMC(SS) Andrew Hines, sits down next to him, “It’s okay.”
“What?”
“It’s okay to grieve.”
“The worst fucking thing is my kids, Chief.”
“You brought pictures, right?”
“Yeah, but what the fuck, Chief, they’ll never exist. All I’ll ever have is those pictures. It hurts.”
“You’re right.” Hines waits, quiet, then, “Nothing I can say will fill the hole in your heart. I can’t. No one can. What I need you to know right now, is that you have a right to grieve. We all do.”
Stan blows his nose, “Thanks, Chief.”
“When you need to talk, find me, and we’ll talk. I know you need to hold it together for the guys, just like I do. We need someone to be like a grief partner. If you are okay with it, we can do that for each other.”
“Thanks, Chief. My kids were just fucking awesome. They were amazing. Now they will never exist. The world has lost so much possible awesome because they are gone.”
“I and Jasmine didn’t have kids. I’m thankful for that. But she…I ache because she is gone. I physically hurt.”
“You know, Chief, I don’t think there has ever been a ship whose crew lost everyone. We’re in uncharted territory.”
“We are. What are you reading?”
“Heinlein. ‘Stranger in a Strange Land.’ It seems apropos.”
“Yeah, it does. You read a lot. Have you ever come across our situation in fiction?”
Mallory, carrying a couple of candy bars and a soda, sits down across from them.
Stan says, “The Final Countdown. It was an eighty’s film.”
Hines, “Yeah, but the hero gets the girl and they go back home. God can’t be so cruel as to keep us here. Maybe paradox will force whatever the mechanism is to send us back.”
Stan asks, “What was the other sub? The one that fired the first torpedoes?”
Hines, “Probably Japanese. Maybe that’s why they know we went back.”
“Maybe. It was sunk, right?”
“Yeah. The Stoddert hit it with an ASROC.”
Stan, “Unless that sub was destined to die, we’ve already changed the past.”
Mallory says, “I read a book.”
Stan, “I don’t think ‘Curious George’ will help us here, Mallory.”
“Funny, Stan. It was ‘The Talon Sword.’”
The two electricians look at each other.
Stan, “I didn’t think your reading list included science fiction. Hell, I didn’t think it got much past the playmate profile.”
“I mostly read westerns. Louis L’Amour is my favorite.”
“Back to ‘The Talon Sword. Do you have a copy?”
“No, but I might be able to scare one up.”
Hines asks, “Do either of you recall the mechanism and the date?”
Mallory, “I’m pretty sure the date was 19 December, 1990 to 19 December, 1941. But the book was fiction, right?”
Stan, “That novel created a huge stir after it was released because it was based on a paper the author found in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. The Ministry of Defense tried to stop its publication, and then tried to force the recall of the published books. They never said why, as I recall. The device could have been built.”
Hines, “In the novel, was there a mechanism for going back to 1990?”
Stan, “I don’t remember one.”
Hines, “Okay. We need a copy of that book if it is aboard. We probably ought to acquire it quietly.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0530, 22 December, 1941
Commander Cumberland gets up, looks in his mirror, grabs his ditty bag, and walks to the head. He hears on the bitch box, “Captain, we are reaching the end of our box. No new contact.”
He pushes a button, “Very well. Right turn for a westerly leg.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Fucking box. The goddamned admiral has us in a fucking box when there is a carrier a few hundred miles south of us that we could kill. The goddamned flyboys are getting all the action.” He finishes shaving and wipes his face. Then he returns to his cabin and gets dressed. A few minutes later, he is walking into the control room.
“Captain in control.”
“Carry on.” He walks through into sonar, “Anything?”
ST1(SS) Brown says, “We just picked up some explosions to the south east. It sounds like they are coming from the Lingayen Gulf. The reverb seems to indicate the noise is originating in shallow water.”
“Okay.”
Brown suddenly pulls off his head phones, “Whoa!” To his right, Guthrie does the same. “Loud explosion to our south.”
Cumberland, “How close?”
“Distant, but loud.” Brown puts his headphones back on, “I’m hearing venting steam and the grinding of a ship breaking up. A secondary explosion. A third. The Japanese are getting hammered.”
“I see. Our kills.”
“Sir?”
“Keep me posted.” Cumberland leaves sonar and walks through control to the wardroom.
Master Chief Godoy sits in the Chief’s mess, his legs propped on a chair, reading. ENC(SS) Giblin comes in, warms Godoy’s coffee, pours himself a cup and sits down.
“Thank you, Jim.”
“How are you?”
Godoy, “I’m committing a cardinal sin. I’m thinking.”
“Yeah. That sort of thing can get you into trouble. Need a sounding board?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Giblin takes a sip of lifer juice. “I got your back, COB. You know that.”
“Yeah. This time travel thing. If it’s a one-way trip, the boys have all lost everyone they love and Christmas is coming.”
“We still spending it in PI? Shit, no, of course we aren’t.”
“Nope.”
Giblin, “With assholious rex in charge, that is going to make things even worse.”
“What has he done now?”
“I saw him as we killed the Russian. The fucker was giddy. First time I’ve seen him happy.”
“It was within our orders. Why do you suppose he was happy about it?”
“That’s the thing, COB. I don’t know. I’ve been over it again and again. At first, I thought it was that everything worked. That combined with survivor high. Now, I don’t know.”
“We need to keep an eye on him. It’s something we always need to do anyway. What do we do about Christmas?”
“I don’t know, COB. Thing is, everyone is hurting. There are no crewmembers who are not impacted to pick up the slack.”
“I’ll talk to the skipper. That and get the wardroom and goat locker on it. We have to take care of the guys.”
CHAPTER 2
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1415, 22 December, 1941
The captain storms in for the hundredth time. “Captain in control.”
LCDR Miller, the OOD watch, says, “We’re at 400 feet approaching the north end of the box. Sonar says the carrier group is continuing north out of its box.”
Cumberland, “Take us to periscope depth.”
“Periscope depth, aye, sir. Helm, ten degree up bubble come on one hundred fifty feet.”
LCDR Morrison walks in. “XO in control.”
Cumberland smiles, his face tight, “So, XO, are you working on any great ballads to honor the heroic pilots today, or is it just the wife who writes?”
“Just her, sir.”
“A shame.”
Miller pushes a button, “Sonar, Conn, we are coming to periscope depth. Do we have any close contacts?”
“Con, sonar, no close contacts.”
Miller, “Right standard rudder. Let’s clear our baffles
.”
Cumberland, “There’s nothing there. Go ahead to periscope depth.”
Miller, “Aye, Captain. Helm, make our depth sixty feet.”
Cumberland, “Are you going to look up her folks? Maybe Grandma is a hotty.”
Morrison, “I’ve not thought about it, sir.”
They can feel the wave motion as the sub shallows out to sixty feet.
Cumberland, “Up scope.” He steps to the periscope and does a quick 360. “No surface contacts. Send our position.”
Radio says, “Yes, sir.”
Cumberland steps back, “Want a peek, rock star?”
“Yes, sir.” The waves are running fifteen feet in long Pacific swells. It is afternoon and the sun is shining overhead.
Radio, “Message, sir. We’re being directed to search for two downed airmen west of our position.”
Cumberland raises his eyes to heaven, “Very well. Plot a course. Let me know when they’re found.” He walks forward out of control.
Morrison, “Sir, do we have permission to surface for a proper search?”
Cumberland stops and turns and lowers his head glaring, frozen. A moment passes, then, “Yes, of course. Carry on.” He abruptly turns and leaves.
Miller whispers to Morrison, “What the fuck was that about?”
Morrison looks at Miller, then, “Take us up. Call for the SAR swimmer and some strong guys. Mallory and Wankowski are off watch. I’ll man the bridge. Once we’re up, ventilate the ship.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sub rolls in the swells. This is their second pass through the area. Morrison can see a helicopter searching to their south. BM3 Billy Jackson says, “Sir, I see green.” He points.
Morrison calls down by sound powered phone, “Right full rudder. All stop.” He gets the repeat back. Submarines perform horribly on the surface, yet the boat swings around.
Jackson, “I see him. He’s there.”
“Rudder amidships. Ahead 1/3. Steady as she goes. Tell the helo we’ve found one.” He turns to the SAR swimmer, BM1 Sarvis, “Can you get him?”
“Yes, sir.” Sarvis climbs down out of the sail and onto the rolling deck.
Morrison on the phone, “Send Mallory and Wankowski up.” The two men come up into the sail, then work their way onto the deck. The steady themselves as another wave washes over the deck.
Mallory gets on the exterior ladder, “Sir, is this the fun or the adventure?”
“A little of both. Be careful.”
“If I was careful, sir, I would be selling insurance.” Mallory climbs down beside Sarvis and hooks onto the track system that ties him to the boat.
Wankowski starts down the ladder and sings, “Be all that you can be,” in his deep, gravelly voice.
Morrison, “That’s the Army song, Ski.”
“Exactly, sir.”
The three men huddle just aft of the sail as the limp body comes along side. Sarvis times the waves and jumps into the sea. The SAR wraps the pilot in his arms and Mallory and Wankowski pull them aboard. As they maneuver the pilot aboard, the helicopter approaches from the south. Morrison hears, “The helo has spotted the other airman south east of us. They’re asking if we can recover it because of the sea state.”
“Affirmative. Does the helo want to pick them up off our deck?”
“If they’re alive, yes.”
Morrison shouts down, “How is he?”
Sarvis, “He’s dead, sir. Multiple GSW.”
“What’s a GSW?”
“Gun Shot Wounds. Sir, he was machined gunned in his chute.”
“What’s his name?”
“Ensign Robert ‘Bo-Bo’ Bolen, sir. He’s a F-14 pilot from the Black Knights. It’s on his patches.”
“Roger. Garry, Stan, we’ll lower a rope to help. We need to haul him up.” On the phones, “Tell the helo we have Ensign Robert Bolen of the Black Knights. Once we have him inside, we’ll go after the other pilot.”
They reverently lift the body to the sail and carefully lower him down into control.
Morrison, “Left full rudder, ahead one third. It’s going to put us in the troughs, so hang on.”
As the sub comes about, Morrison hears from behind him, “Yeah Hoo!” He leans out and looks back. Mallory has his feet spread, his lanyard wrapped around his hand, and is riding the sub like a bull, his left hand flying in the air.
Morrison thinks to himself, “Thank God, the periscope doesn’t depress that far. Old Stick in the Ass would be pissed.”
They come up on the second body and repeat the process of getting it aboard. Sarvis reports, “This one is the same. Multiple GSW.”
“Understood. What’s his name?”
“Ensign Chris ‘Klutz’ Brandt. He’s also a Black Knight.”
“Roger.” He again lowers the rope. On the phone, “Tell the helo, and higher command, the body of Ensign Chris Brandt is on board. He was also machined gunned in his chute.”
Cumberland climbs up as they are hoisting the pilot’s body up into the sail. “XO, why are we bringing them aboard?”
“We were told to, sir. It’s the sea state.”
“Jesus Christ. Now, we’re a fucking morgue.” Without helping, Cumberland climbs back down, then stops part way, “Don’t you fucking dare drip dead guy on me.”
They wait for the captain to clear below, then carefully lower the pilot down the trunk.
JAPANESE SUBMARINE I-76
2310, 22 December, 1941
Commander Yahachi Tanabe stands like a statue beside the periscopes. They are running on the surface at night recharging their batteries. The smell of diesel permeates everything. The thrum of the diesel engine vibrates the whole boat. The bridge watch passes down a sightings report; negative contacts. It’s more to show they are awake and alert.
The commander walks to the chart table. Their position is accurately marked, as is the estimated forward progress of the American carrier. Lieutenant Kadono says, “We should be ahead of schedule, Captain.”
“Yes, but this assumes much. We assume they wish to travel to Hawaii, and we assume they are not zig-zagging significantly. We can hear nothing while on the surface with the diesel running.”
“Shall we shut it off and listen?”
“We are only a third through our charge cycle.” The captain thinks, “Yes, do it. We drift for thirty minutes just to listen.”
“Yes, sir.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
ST1Thurman Thorsen stiffens, listening, “Con, Sonar, surface contact, bearing 304. Designate Sierra 4. It sounds like a distant diesel boat on the surface.”
Cumberland materializes behind him, “Where?”
Thorsen points at the waterfall display, “It stops here, sir. That is when I caught it.”
“Why not before?”
“It’s far away, sir. Sorry.”
“Thorsen, do better. I depend on you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cumberland storms back into control, “Start a track on Sierra 4.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cumberland paces as they lay down the datum. The OOD, LCDR Steve Miller asks, “Do we have any idea where the American submarines are?”
Cumberland looks up, “No. We just don’t know.”
“Yes, sir.”
Time drags by.
Cumberland pushes the button, “Sonar, Conn. Any information?”
“No, sir. No diesel. No screws.”
JAPANESE SUBMARINE I-76
Commander Tanabe walks to the sonar station, “Anything?”
“I think I hear something to the south and east. About 155. It is very faint, sir, but it has the thrum of multiple screws.”
“Far away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I see. We will motor for an hour or two and look again. Perhaps we may triangulate.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tanabe returns to control, “Restart the diesel. Return to base course.”
