by M L Maki
Tucker, “He is the plus one. It’s CO’s and XO’s.”
Petrea, “Are all the squadrons invited, sir?”
Tucker, “Yes, our friend will be there. Morrison, have you met Commander Hunt?”
“I have.”
“Look out for her there, okay?”
Morrison, “Sir, she’ll probably end up looking after me. I’ll do what I can.” He turns to his two new ensigns, “The CHENG is on duty today. I take it you know where we’re berthed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning. Eight, my office.”
“Yes, sir.” The two men salute and leave.
Morrison, “We’re going to have tea, sir, if you would like to join us?”
“Thank you, no. I’m meeting with some Australian counterparts. I’m arranging to see the work of Dr. Heinlein.”
Morrison, “Wow. If it could be finagled, I would love to see it as well.”
“I’ll see what may be done. Good day.”
John and Liz get into the Ford and head off base. Liz, “Dr. Heinlein and his incredible time machine.”
“You know, one of our nukes was the room mate of one of your nukes.”
“Do you know the name?”
John, “I do, but I haven’t shared it. The young man could be harmed.”
“I agree. Besides you, are there any other minority officers or men?”
“No other officers. Many among the enlisted.”
Liz, “And, you’re doing what you can to protect them. I don’t envy you your job.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1210, 12 February, 1942
Mallory is walking back down to the sub after eating lunch on the Horne. Cumberland is walking off the boat, so Mallory stands aside and waits. The bell rings, “San Francisco, departing.” Cumberland reaches the end of the brow and Mallory salutes. Cumberland returns the salute, “Mallory, I want to talk to you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I heard you’re planning to get married tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, cancel it. I’ll not have it.”
“Sir?”
“There’s no way you could know a woman long enough to make that kind of decision this fast.”
“Sir, I respect your opinion, sir, but I’m not cancelling my wedding.”
Cumberland looks Mallory in the eyes, “All women are whores. The only variable is how they get paid and who they choose to fuck. Break it off. If you don’t, I’ll mast you for disobeying a direct order and restrict you to the ship until we’re back at sea.”
Mallory breaks eye contact, “I understand your order, sir.”
“Look at me.”
Mallory looks up as ordered. His jaw is twitching and his shoulders are tight, but his eyes are blank. “You’ll thank me for this when you have some time away from her. You’ll come to understand I’m right. Carry on.” Cumberland walks away, smiling.
Mallory goes below. When he gets to the tunnel, he screams, face turned upward and fists clenched, “You mother fucking, fuck head, fuck wad, fuck tard, fuck face, fuck funnel, fuck monkey…” He hears the door shut behind him, but keeps going, “…cock sucking, God damned jack ass, little dick, Nazi, cock whore! You were a waste of sperm. If you’d been a blow job, the world would be a better place.” He leans against the wall and covers his face with his hands.
LCDR Miller, “Mallory, give me a second, I’m taking notes. If you’d been a blow job…damn, that’s good.”
“Sir?”
“What did Cumberland do?”
“He ordered me to not get married, CHENG.”
“I know you’re not on watch, come with me.”
“Yes, sir.” Miller walks him to the stateroom he shares with Backes. The room is now decorated with Gumby’s.”
Miller pulls out a note book and pen, “Write a statement.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s an unlawful order. He cannot order you not to marry. I’ll wait. Write the whole thing down.”
Mallory writes for fifteen minutes, signs it, and slides it over. A detective has nothing on the completeness of a nuke’s statement. Miller, “Okay, Mallory. This is what you’re going to do.” Miller signs and dates the statement. “Unless you, for your own reasons, want to pull out, I want you to enjoy your wedding tomorrow and say nothing about it. I’ll forward your marriage certificate to the Vinson for entry into your record. We’ll see about getting her a dependent ID card. We need to figure out how to split your check, so you can keep her in money.”
“Sir, I was thinking about that. I don’t even have a bank account. I was going to leave her with all I have now, and hope to wire more money by Western Union when I can.”
“I’m delving into your personal life, but how much do you have?”
“I’ve nearly three hundred, sir.”
“I’m not sure of the cost of living here, but that would get her through three to six months.”
“She lives with her folks, and is responsible with money. We talked about it yesterday.”
“How much does she think she needs?”
“None. She has a couple of hundred in the bank and a steady job in a ship yard.”
“She told you that?”
“Sir, we were kind of arguing over it. I was trying to explain that I need to give, to take care of her. We went to the bank and she showed me her account.”
“That’s it. If you can get her account information, you should be able to wire money directly into her account. Tell her she can save it for you, because you don’t have an account. Remember to keep half of what you earn here. Time may come that you have need of it.”
“Good idea, sir. I was going to conspire with her dad to make sure she gets it.”
“You get along with her folks?”
“Yes, sir. They’re frankly awesome, sir. Sir, do you want to come?”
“I’d be honored. Are you going to invite the XO?”
“I was thinking about that. Would it mess up his liberty plans?”
“I doubt it. Give me the information and I’ll see he gets it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
GOVERNOR’S MANSION, SYDNEY
1822, 13 February, 1942
Morrison parks the car and he and Cumberland get out, both in full dress whites with medals clanking. They walk to the front door and a footman checks them in. When they get into the ballroom, they see Admirals Nimitz, Halsey, and Lee talking to some Australian flag officers and a man in a tuxedo with a red sash.
Cumberland, “The civilian with the red sash, you suppose he’s our host?”
Morrison, “Probably, sir. The sash is for the Order of the Bath. He’s a knight.”
Cumberland, “I find all that to be formal nonsense. Blue blood only matters when red blood runs thin.”
They pick champagne flutes off a tray and walk among the guests. An Australian captain offers his hand, “Harry Howden, commander of Hobart.”
“George Cumberland, commander of San Francisco.”
Howden, “Amusing, we both command cities.”
Cumberland, “We do?”
Howden looks at Morrison, “And you are, Commander?”
Morrison, “I’m his XO, John Morrison.”
“Morrison? Any relation to Marion Morrison?”
Cumberland chuckles, “John Wayne? More like John Wang.” He realizes the other two aren’t laughing.
Morrison, “I was adopted by the Morrisons after my folks died in a traffic accident. I assume the families must be related to the Morrison clan in Scotland, but I don’t know of any connection.”
There’s a stir in the crowd and it parts to reveal the U.S. Navy pilots. LCDR Samantha Hunt stands out in her dress whites.
Howden, “My Lord. Who is that?”
Morrison, “That is Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hunt, the CO of the Black Knights squadron, VF-154.”
“A female fighter pilot?”
Cumberland, “I qu
ite agree, sir. A woman’s place is in the home.”
Morrison, “She has 35 kills, sir.” They watch Hunt talking with Wakefield.
Howden, “How does that compare with the other pilots?”
“She’s the American ace of aces.”
“Remarkable. Would you excuse me?” Howden walks toward a group of Australian Navy officers.
Cumberland, “You shouldn’t talk up that woman, Morrison.”
“I understand why you would dislike her, sir, but regardless of what you and I think, her competence speaks for itself.”
“You lift up a woman like that, then they’ll have expectations that are unreasonable. Better that her success is ignored. Regardless, she’ll be kicked out of the Navy on a medical.”
“A medical, sir?”
Cumberland, “Yes. On examination, they’ll find she lacks a penis. Then she’ll be discharged.” He chuckles.
They watch the Governor walk up to Hunt. He’s loud enough that the rest of the guests quiet, “I must meet this supposed female aviator. Hello, I’m Governor John Loder, Lord Wakehurst. Welcome to my home. You, madam, would you be this female aviator?”
Hunt, “I am, sir. It’s a pleasure.”
“This is rubbish.” Turning to Nimitz, “Is this your idea of a joke, Admiral?”
Nimitz, “No, milord. This is Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hunt, commanding officer of the Black Knights squadron. She has 35 Japanese kills.”
Governor Loder, “Preposterous. No woman could outfly a man. I hope you’re not thinking of sending this female to defend Australia. I won’t have it. Not for a minute.”
Nimitz, “Milord, if I had a thought of sending you my most successful squadron, it would be Commander Hunt’s. As it is, I’ll be releasing the Blue Diamonds, commanded by Earl Carpenter. Their fighters are also optimized for air to ground.”
Loder sputters, “Are you telling me this woman commands the best squadron on your vessel?”
Holtz, “Milord, Commander Hunt is, right now, likely the best fighter pilot in the world. I admit to having my doubts in the past, but she has proven herself to me.”
Halsey, “Governor, please allow me to introduce you to Commander Carpenter. He commands the squadron assigned to Australia, the Blue Diamonds.” He and Nimitz walk the Governor away. The conversations resume and Hunt is surrounded by pilots.
Cumberland watches this with a smile, “Morrison, do you know the Captain with Hunt?”
“No, sir.”
“I thought you knew everyone?”
“No, sir.”
Cumberland, “What’s the Hobart?”
“It’s a cruiser. A light cruiser, I think. It’s the one behind the carrier nested with the Jarrett.”
“Okay, go mingle.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cumberland walks up to CDR Wakefield, “Hello, Commander.”
Wakefield, “Commander. You’re Cumberland, right?”
“I am, and you are?”
She offers a hand, “Laura Wakefield of Fife.”
“I heard you lost your entire chain. How are you doing?”
“We’re managing. This is my XO, Commander Brewster Flanagan.”
Cumberland notices that the cut of Flanagan’s uniform marks him as a ’41. He turns back to Wakefield after shaking Flanagan’s hand, “Still, with so little time in service, you have to be struggling. What can I do to help?”
“I’m a mustang, Commander. I’ve eleven years of service, and I completed nuke school in 1988 as an officer.”
“Oh, I see. So, you’ve everything sorted out. Have you ever even detected us?”
“You’re good, and subs always have the advantage, but yes, we’ve tracked you. I’ve a really solid crew.”
“There’s no way you could ever find me.”
Wakefield, “I bet we can track you for one hour. Your course, speed, and depth. Are you willing to put a case of whiskey on it? My preference is single malt scotch. The good stuff.”
Cumberland, “Jack Daniels. You’re on.” They shake hands.
Morrison joins Hunt and three other pilots, “You okay, Commander?”
Hunt, “Hi John. Let me introduce you to John ‘Marshall’ Dillon, Norman ‘Oyster’ Osterman, and Stephan ‘Swede’ Swedenborg. Swede is my XO, Oyster is XO for the Tomcatters, and Marshall is the XO of the Redcocks. John Morrison is XO of the San Francisco.”
They all shake hands. Oyster, “What is the San Francisco?”
Morrison, “It’s being called an anti-submarine vessel.”
Marshall, “Come on, Oyster. He has dolphins on his chest.”
Oyster, “Oh, duh. Sorry. What is the pin under it of the sideways boat?”
“We just got them. It’s a combat patrol pin. They haven’t been issued since, well, World War II.”
Oyster, “Cool. I couldn’t do what you do. I need to see some sun.”
“It does tend to pale the complexion.”
“Do your nukes hug the reactor to keep a tan?”
Morrison laughs, “Nope. That just causes two-headed babies. I don’t recommend it.”
The announcement for dinner is made.
CHAPTER 19
ST. JOHN’S ANGLICAN CHURCH, CROYDON, NSW
1358, 16 February, 1942
MM1 Mallory paces in the little room where he and Wankowski are waiting. Wankowski is kicked back with a cup of coffee, “Chill, man.”
“I don’t want to screw up my vows. This is important.”
“It get it, my friend, but it’s one day. If she’s as awesome as you think she is, then this is just one day.”
“I don’t want to screw it up.”
“Dude, something goes wrong at every wedding. Just relax, okay?”
Morrison and Miller enter wearing full dress whites with their swords. Morrison, “How are you doing, Gary?”
“Nervous, sir. I don’t want to mess up.”
Miller, “You won’t, Gary. All you have to do is repeat the preacher.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.”
Morrison, “Tell us about her.”
“Well, she has red hair, and the strength of character that implies. She has an infectious giggle and amazing green eyes. She’s sweet and kind, but tough, too. She’s the kind of woman you take home to Mom and they fall in love with each other.” Gary smiles, “Thank you, sir.”
Morrison, “You were stuck on the what. I just reminded you of the why. I’m looking forward to meeting her, Gary. I’m happy for you.”
When they leave the room, they see about twenty of Amy’s family and friends in the pews, and about forty sailors. Most of the crew that’s on liberty are here, including several of the officers. All the officers have their swords. Morrison goes up to the priest and whispers something, and the priest nods. Then he sits down with Miller and the other officers near the back.
Gary takes his place. Stan walks Amy’s mom down the aisle and seats her, then takes his place next to Gary. The organist starts the music. A pretty blonde, Mary Burns, in a mid-calf peach dress, walks to her place opposite the two men. The wedding march begins.
Amy slowly walks down the aisle on her father’s arm. He’s in a black suit, and she’s wearing a simply cut white dress that fits her perfectly. As they proceed down the aisle, several girls hang ribbon decorated horse shoes on her arm.
They reach the altar and Andrew Randolph gives away his daughter and sits down. Gary’s nerves drop away as he looks into Amy’s eyes. The familiar ceremony speeds by and the priest turns them toward the guests, “Gentlemen, take your positions.”
Morrison, Miller, Petrea, and the other officers form up facing each other at the foot of the aisle. Morrison, “Present…” They grasp their swords and partly pull them out, “Arms.” They draw their swords and create the arch. Morrison is on the far end on the bride’s side.
The priest smiles, “I present Petty Officer and Mrs. Gary Mallory. You may kiss your bride.”
Gary leans over and pulls Amy into a light embrace
and kiss. It’s delicate, but full of passion. The recessional begins and they walk down the aisle under the swords. As they pass, each pair of swords come down. Morrison and Miller are the last to lower their swords and Morrison gives Amy the customary swat on the behind. She chirps, “Oh!”
