To Hunt and Protect

by M L Maki

  One of the soldiers says, “Looks like the yanks ‘er getting their first taste of real beer.”

  Mallory looks over at him and smiles, “I’ve been to Aussie before. I love your beer.”

  “You’ve been to Sydney?”

  “Melbourne, about six years ago.”

  “Well, mate, all Melbourne has is VB and that’s rubbish compared to our Tooheys.”

  Mallory takes another drink, “Yes, I’m inclined to agree.”

  The digger they’ve been talking to comes over, “I’m Dan Potter, a corporal of the coastal artillery.”

  Gary Mallory shakes his hand, “Gary Mallory, a machinist mate first class off the San Francisco. These two are Joe Jackson and Karl Gustaf.”

  The man introduces his mates, then orders a round just as the food comes out.

  GARDEN ISLAND NAVAL STATION

  2350, 4 February, 1942

  LCDR Joh Morrison is walking along the road out of the station when a grey sedan pulls up beside him and the rear window opens, “Are you lost, Commander?”

  John peers into the car, “No, sir. I was walking to the carrier.”

  “Well, get in. We can drop you off.”

  John climbs in and discovers the rear seat passenger is a two-star admiral, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Admiral Lee. You’re welcome. Bill, to the Vinson, please.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Morrison, sir.”

  “You from the San Francisco?”

  “Yes, sir, the anti-submarine ship.”

  Lee chuckles, “I was CAG on the Vinson when we came back in time. I know what the San Francisco is. It’s an LA flight 1, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re the XO?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re on liberty, so why are you hoofing it to the Vinson?”

  “I’ve some mail for Captain Van Zandt.”

  “And the mail bag won’t do it?”

  “Sir, are you going to drag it out of me?”

  “If I have to.”

  “It’s a trust issue, sir.”

  Lee sits back, “Fair enough. May I guess?”

  “Sir, I’m having issues with my commanding officer. I’ve been keeping Van Zandt and Klindt informed. I’m worried about the security of my mail.”

  “I’ll be seeing Craig in a couple of days and would be happy to hand deliver your letters to him. You can drop Van Zandt’s in his box.”

  “Sir, what are you doing here?”

  Lee laughs, “A fair question. I need to talk to a couple of pilots, but I let them go out for a beer first. Now, I’m hoping to intercept them on the way back.”

  “Can I ask what you do?”

  “Sure, I’m NAVAIR Jets, and Klindt is NAVSEA-08.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can tell you he’s being promoted to Vice-CNO for special projects.”

  “Who will be ‘08’?”

  “He’ll keep that.”

  “Okay. Sir, do you have any insight as to what is going on in DC?”

  “There is a lot I know, but little I can share. They’re very happy with the success of the battle group. Off of Wake, you managed to sink four carriers. Three of them were at Pearl Harbor.”

  “We sank a battleship, a cruiser, and a destroyer. And sir, we’re getting short on torpedoes.”

  “The Camden has some on board. When you leave Sydney, you’ll be full. We’re working on making new ones. It’ll be a while.”

  “Thank you, sir. Here are the letters for Admiral Klindt.”

  Lee puts the letters in his shirt pocket. “Take care, Commander. That and be careful, your ethnicity may mark you for discrimination.”

  “I understand about that, sir. My father was Irish.”

  Lee laughs, “Are you in contact with your family?”

  “My dad is about thirteen right now. His dad is the XO on a destroyer on the East coast. I’ve sent letters, but I’ve no idea if they received any yet.”

  “You remember which one?”

  “I just found out. It’s the Livermore out of Cape May.”

  Lee, “If it’s okay with you, I’ll check on them.”

  “Please do, and thank you, sir.” Morrison gets out of the car and walks up the officer’s brow. He salutes and shows his ID, “Request to come aboard for delivery to Captain Van Zandt.”

  The lieutenant junior grade studies his ID and face, “What ship are you on?”

  “The anti-submarine ship San Francisco.”

  “What the hell is that?”

  Morrison smiles, “We’re not the heavy cruiser. We came back in time with the rest of you.”

  Captain Holtz steps up after John, “CAG, reporting.” The officer salutes. Holtz, “What’s up Commander?”

  Morrison, “I’m the XO on the San Francisco, sir. I’m trying to deliver some personal mail for Captain Van Zandt.”

  The quarterdeck watch, “What’s the San Francisco, sir?”

  Holtz, “While on this watch, you should know the vessels that make up your battle group and you should recognize the face of every CO and XO. Get your shit straight, Lieutenant. Morrison, I’ll show you the way.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Thank you for sinking all those Japanese subs. Were it not for what you did while we were trying to recover the Salt Lake City, we could have all been sunk.” They climb the stairs to the 03 level, then walk through the maze of passageways. “Aren’t you seeing Halsey tomorrow morning?”

  “My captain and I, yes.”

  “Hmm. I see.” He stops at a door, “This is his stateroom. It was mine before I made CAG.”

  John slides three envelopes under the door.

  Holtz, “Now, can I offer you a cup of joe while you share your story?”

  “Yes, sir.” They walk into the CAG’s office and Holtz puts on the pot. As they wait, John explains his struggles with Cumberland, “The thing is, sir. He’s a damn fine tactician and he’s really aggressive. All these are traits that are needed in the force. But he abuses the crew.”

  “Do you want him relieved?”

  “Actually, no, sir. I do want people outside the boat to know we’re struggling. Of late, he’s actually gotten better.”

  “I, of all people, know a person can make a change for the better. I also know, we really need you out there. I really appreciate you being frank with this.”

  “Sir, do you know where we are going?”

  “I’ll not rain on Admiral Halsey’s parade. He’ll tell you the plan tomorrow. Are you staying on your boat?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Admiral Lee gave me a lift.”

  ‘Papa’ Holtz smiles, “Lee used to sit in this chair, and I’ve known him since I was an Ensign. He’s a very good friend to have.”

  “I got that impression, sir. Can I ask you what the two of you fly?”

  “The Tomcat. We flew the Brick before. When we leave here, it’s liable to be a target rich environment. The Japanese will know we’re here. How long do you think you’ll need to sanitize our exit?”

  “A day. Two to be careful.”

  “Thank you. Now, the President and Admiral King have decided to keep your existence secret for now. Can you and your crew deal with that?”

  “I served a tour on the Parche, sir. It isn’t a problem.”

  “Okay. It won’t be forever. Where we’re going, it will be really handy if they don’t know you exist.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  “Okay, I’m calling for a car to take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Sir, it’s just down the wharf and through the construction area.”

  “Yes, but I don’t want a hyped-up security guard thinking you’re an infiltrator. Speaking of which, don’t go out on the town alone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  THE SLAUGHTERED LAMB, BONDI BEACH

  0122, 5 February, 1942

  The six servicemen are laughing and enjoyi
ng their beers when the shore patrol walk in. They are in their tropical white uniform with the band on their arm. The laughter dies down. The second-class leading the patrol walks right up to the men, “What unit are you with?”

  “I’m Corporal Potter of the coastal artillery. Who are you?”

  The petty officer says, “No, him,” pointing at Mallory.

  Mallory stands up to his full six-foot four-inch height, “I’m MM1 Gary Mallory, at your service. We serve with distinction aboard the anti-submarine vessel San Francisco. I’m not drunk and not driving, so what is your issue, PO2?”

  The five-foot four-inch second class petty officer stands his ground, “I think you’re drunk and disorderly.”

  The bartender joins them, “Young man, they’re not causing a problem, so take a piss.”

  “What?”

  Mallory, “He’s telling you to leave. We’re guests in this country, so be a good lad and move along.”

  “Shut up.” The petty officer rotates like a turret toward the bartender, “Unless, you want to be banned from serving the Navy, you will shut up and go away.”

  The bartender says, “Unless you want to spend a day in jail, petty officer, you will piss off. We’ve no time for a wanker, so bugger off.”

  The petty officer points a finger at Mallory, “This ain’t over.”

  Mallory, “Have a good day, shipmate.”

  The shore patrol detachment hang outside the bar waiting for the sailors to leave. Gustaf, “Why are they still here?”

  Mallory, “No other sailors have found Bondi Beach yet, so he only has us to fuck with.” He turns to the bartender, “Sorry, Bruce. They single out assholes to be shore patrol.”

  Bruce, “You’ve been out a fighting and deserve a coldie in peace.”

  Potter, “Have you done any fighting?”

  Jackson, “We’ve sunk five Japanese submarines.”

  Bruce, “Crickey.”

  Potter, “You with that carrier that attacked Tokyo?”

  Gustaf, “Yeah, the same group, but we’re on another ship.”

  Potter, “What kind?”

  Mallory, “Anti-submarine.”

  “A destroyer.”

  “Like that.”

  Potter, “You’ve got quite a stack of lettuce, what are they?”

  Mallory looks down at the four-high stack of ribbons under his submarine dolphins, “Well, this one is for making my rack real good.”

  Gustaf, “Come on, Mallory. Really?”

  “Look, I’ve been in eighteen years. You just acquire stuff. The highest is the Navy Achievement Medal. The silver star means I have four or more. I have five.”

  Potter, “What are the others?”

  Mallory sighs, “This row is Good conduct, Presidential, and Meritorious unit citations; next, Battle E, National Defense, and Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal; bottom row, Sea service, Expert Rifle and Expert Pistol. It all sounds much more cool than it is. A lot are just for me being in theater or on a ship when they are issued.”

  Bruce, “What are the Achievement Medals for?”

  Mallory, “Three were end of tour medals, just for doing well at a command. One was for a big repair I did. The other, I can’t talk about it. It was a spooky thing.”

  Bruce, “Wow. You boys need another round?”

  Mallory, “Sure. I got this one.”

  Bruce, “This one is on the house. Yous rattled Tojo’s cage.”

  Gustaf, “They’re still waiting outside.”

  Mallory grins, “Let them wait. We ain’t doing anything wrong and we have a room.”

  CHAPTER 11

  PORT AFT MISSILE LAUNCHER, TIRPITZ DEPARTING WILHELMSHAVEN

  1832, 4 February, 1942

  Oberleutnant zur See Helmut Schmitt stands with his men beside their launcher as Germany’s only remaining battleship goes to sea. The new launchers have two of the new missiles on the rails. He smiles. The missiles they are carrying were made in America. He is looking forward to giving them back to them, one at a time.

  The ship turns and he sees the cruiser, Koln. It also has four missile launchers. Four destroyers in their group each have one. “If the Royal Air Force shows up, they’re going to get a surprise. We need to test it and know how to use it, but, still, it is amazing.”

  They secure from manning the rails and he goes back to play with his new toy.

  USS CARL VINSON, GARDEN ISLAND WHARF, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

  0725, 5 February, 1942

  Cumberland and Morrison sit waiting for Halsey. Captain Van Zandt comes in with a steward, who serves coffee. After the steward leaves, Van Zandt says, “Admiral Halsey is visiting with Vice Admiral Royle, head of the RAN. I’ll be giving you your briefing.”

  Cumberland looks at Morrison, puzzled, then, “Yes, sir.”

  Van Zandt, “I’m aware that you would very much prefer to be at sea. The reason we’re in port is to prepare to fly off the Blue Diamonds to defend Australia and facilitate repairs to the Fife and Carl Vinson. This is an opportunity for your crew to get some well- deserved liberty, and for you to perform needed maintenance, and get re-supplied with more torpedoes. If you have repairs that are beyond ships force, bring them to Captain Tucker, our reactor officer. He has additional resources. We’ll be in port for at least two more weeks. More likely, three.”

  Cumberland, “Why so long?”

  “The Fife is getting a new bridge. It’s the kind of extensive repair that takes time.”

  Cumberland, “Why didn’t you just send it home?”

  “We can’t be without the antisubmarine capabilities of the Fife.”

  Cumberland, “Sir, while you’re in port, we could be patrolling.”

  “It’s been discussed. If we need to sortie you, we will. For now, Halsey wants you in port.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Halsey expects the Japanese will send submarines to engage us when we leave. You will leave two days before the rest of us to sanitize the area. If we had you out there, the Japanese could start learning to counter your capabilities and one may slip through. If you shock them all at once, you’ll catch them unprepared and lay waste.”

  “But, sir, the convoys.”

  Van Zandt, “Put yourself in their position. Would you reveal yourself by sinking a merchant ship? Also, the Japanese did not use their submarines for unconditional warfare. They considered them to be part of the fleet, and used them to sink our warships. The convoys should be quite safe. I grant, it’s a gamble, but they gave him three stars to make these kinds of decisions.”

  Morrison, “Where do we go from here?”

  Van Zandt, “We know you’ve been chomping at the bit to get on the offensive. Once you escort us clear of Sydney and into the IO, you will be cut loose to transit the Atlantic to hunt U-boats. We’re still sorting out the schedules, basing, and details. They’ll be given to you before you sail.”

  Cumberland, “Yes, sir.”

  Morrison, “Yes, sir.”

  Van Zandt, “That done, Morrison, could you please give us a minute?”

  “Yes, sir. If it works for you, sir, I’ll find the reactor department here and meet you back on the boat?”

  Cumberland, “Do that.”

  Morrison leaves Halsey’s office and walks down the ladder until he gets to the second deck. No one is around, so he asks himself, “Forward, or aft?”

  He walks forward and finds photo dosimetry and knocks. The window slides open and a female second class says, “We’re closed. Um, sorry, sir.”

  “I just need directions. Where is the reactor office?”

  “Starboard side, aft of the mess decks, inboard, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  He finds the office, knocks, and walks in. The office is huge. It’s bigger than the mess decks on the sub. A third class is sitting at a desk, “Can I help you, Commander?”

  “Yes, is the reactor officer aboard?”

  “No, sir. The engineering duty officer is Lieutenant Commander Petrea.
”

  MMCM Hatzenbeuler walk out of his office. “How can I help you, Commander?”