Should England Fall

by M L Maki

  Then she pulls the stick back to regain altitude and tracer fire passes just below them. “Where is he?”

  “Looking, Boss.”

  “Grunt,” and she violently pulls past vertical in zone 5.

  YELLOW 1

  Welter cusses, he’s out of missiles and low on fuel. “I fucking had him. Below and behind. It was the perfect set up. Fuck!”

  On radio, “Yellow leader, Strike leader. We couldn’t find the fleet. Dropped on backup targets. Withdrawing.”

  “Strike 1, Yellow 1, acknowledge. Yellow flight, disengage.”

  The dog fight is playing in his mind. “The American ace survives. I survive as well, and we will meet again.”

  ARTHUR 1

  Spike and Lizard are supersonic closing another ‘262. The Germans dropped their bombs on the beach south of Newcastle and are turning for home. She’s at full military, exchanging altitude for speed. With eight British fighters engaged, the fight has devolved into individual engagements. Five miles from her prey, a missile streaks in and destroys it. “Lizard, the Brit’s can mop up. Let’s get more fuel and missiles.”

  “Roger, Boss.”

  As she pulls out of her dive, a ‘262 flies into her cross hairs. She fires her last Sidewinder and it runs right up the left engine. Both engines grenade and the vertical stabilizer falls off. The pilot struggles to control the doomed plane, then ejects.

  CHAPTER 4

  GHOST RIDER, AN E-2C HAWKEYE, 35,000FEET OVER YORK, UK

  LCDR Michelle ‘Dolly’ Parley flies a slow circle as the radar crew monitor the battle. LTJG Clive ‘Parsec’ Kessel, her Combat Information Center Officer (CICO), says, “Ma’am, we have two fast movers inbound on the deck.”

  “Call for help,” and rolls to the left, diving west.

  “Any unit, Ghost Rider is under attack. We are over York and diving west.”

  Lizard, “Ghost Rider, Arthur 1, roger. All Yankee units, close Ghost Rider’s position. We are coming your way at five. Hang on.”

  They are near the do not exceed speed in the dive, when her co-pilot, LTJG Nancy ‘Lady’ Wilson, says, “They’re targeting us. Missile launch.”

  Parley fires off chaff and flares and turns left. She sees the missile fly by and rolls back right, continuing west. She’s at 6000 feet and descending. Lady says, “Another. Two heat seekers.”

  Parley breaks right and fires off more countermeasures. A missile hits the top of the left wing near the engine exhaust. They can hear and feel parts hitting the fuselage. Then the aircraft pulls hard left. They hear, “Fox 1, fox 1. Lancelot closing Ghost Rider. Splash one. They’re bugging out.”

  Then, “Ghost Rider, Arthur 1. How are you doing?”

  Lady, “She wants to turn left. One engine hit and we’re losing hydraulic pressure.”

  Lizard, “Yeadon Aerodrome is two miles at your two o’clock.”

  Parley, “Tell them to make crash preps.”

  Lady, “Yeadon, Ghost Rider, declaring an emergency. Please clear the field and alert services.” Then on intercom, “Secure your stations and lock your seats. It’s going to be a rough landing.”

  Both pilots fight to maintain level flight. Lady, “I see the field. One o’clock.”

  Parley, “I see it.”

  “Ghost Rider, Yeadon, what runway do you want?”

  Lady, “The east west one.”

  Parley, “They want to be picky and expect us to land on the runway, God. Um, no gear. They got the landing gear with engine. Damn.”

  “Roger.”

  “Hang on.”

  TOWER, YEADON AERODROME

  The tower crew are all at the windows. The E-2C’s left engine is twisted in its cowling creating incredible drag. They watch the plane belly land in grass south of the runway. For a few seconds the wings are level as the plane skids on the grass, then the left wing hooks the ground and the plane spins counterclockwise. The pilots get her level again, but then the right wing dips and digs in and the right wing buckles. The stresses cause the radome to break off and tumble away as the aircraft slides across a taxiway and into the corner of a hanger.

  REAR OF GHOST RIDER

  LTJG Clive Kessel unbuckles his harness in the sudden silence. He orients himself and stumbles toward the cockpit, yelling, “Help me! Get the damn door open!” The left tilt of the plane hinders him and the strong smell of JP-5 fills the cabin. He can hear his men getting one of the overhead hatches open. “I’ll get the pilots. Figure out how to get them out.”

  Kessel moves fallen gear and gets to the rear of the cockpit. The entire front of the plane is smashed in and the flight console is crushed against the legs of the pilots. Parley whispers, “Everyone okay back there?”

  Parsec, “We’re fine. Let me get you out.”

  Parley, “Get Lady first.”

  Parsec reaches in and feels Lady’s legs. They’re both broken at the femur. Lady says, “I can smell smoke. Just go.”

  “No way,” and he finds the seat adjustment and lowers it. Lady screams and passes out. He removes her harness and pull her out, dragging her aft. Grateful she’s passed out. His men grab her and lift her to the waiting firefighters. The smoke from the burning fuel is coming into the cabin.

  Parsec goes back for Parley. The damage is worse on her side and the hull is getting hot. Parley gasps, “You’ve done your duty. Go.”

  “No way,” and searches for the seat controls with his fingers.

  “Parsec, go. You’re indispensable.”

  “Fuck you, ma’am.”

  He finds the controls and pulls it. The seat lowers a bit, but it sticks, and he can’t pull her free. He heads aft for a tool kit, and armed with wrenches, goes back forward. His head close to her lap, he reaches around her with the wrench and starts unbolting the chair. The cockpit fills with more and more smoke. He can hear Parley gasping for air. He gets one bolt free and feels someone grab his legs. Two firefighters pull him from the wreck. “Damn it, I almost had it.”

  They barely get off the fuselage and away from the burning plane, when it explodes, the shock wave throwing them off their feet.

  GRUMMAN AIRCRAFT, BETHPAGE, NEW YORK

  0510, 23 September, 1942 (1010 GMT)

  Vice Admiral Richard ‘Dixie’ Lee walks around a brand-new F/A-14B. It’s not painted except for the orange on the wing tips, elevators and vertical stabilizer. He looks at the test pilot walking with him, “How many flights have you taken?”

  “This will be my fourth and first in the back seat.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It goes like a bullet, sir. We’ve had a few bugs, brackets and such. Also, it’s real finicky to land.”

  “They’ve always been finicky to land. Have you tried ACM?”

  “No, sir. I’ve just been establishing the envelope.”

  “Butch, what is different from our old birds?”

  Commander Ronald ‘Butch’ Cassidy, the project officer at Grumman, and the only person to work the F-14 assembly line before going back in time, just smiles. “Not much, sir. The hydraulic seals in the swing mechanism are a little different. We’re hoping they’ll leak less. The instrument package is a bit different. The HUD is a little larger and doesn’t auto-dim yet. The radar system has a slightly larger turning arc and has terrain following and ground attack function similar to the Hornet’s. The bulb behind the day and night cameras is a laser designator that isn’t finished yet. They’re still working on that at Hanford. It’s pretty close, sir.”

  “Laser? We’ll be able to laser designate?”

  “It should be out in a mod soon. Instead of carrying a targeting pod on a rail, all the rails will be free for ordinance. I understand, Captain Richardson and Commander Severn came up with that one.”

  “Do the terrain following and attack functions work?”

  “The attack functions do. When you select air to ground with the target designate switch, it will switch the HUD and VDI to air to ground. You still have to designate stores for droppi
ng bombs. Terrain following can be enabled in either mode using the switch on the autopilot panel. It hasn’t been tested yet.”

  “I see.”

  “Also, the camera will be slaved to the laser, so the RIO can clearly see and record the target he is designating and the results of the strike, as long as the pilot keeps the bird flying within the sweep area of the camera.”

  Dixie nods, “I see. Well, let’s do this.” He climbs into the cockpit and sits still as Butch straps him in. Then the test pilot climbs into the rear seat. They carefully go through each check list, then start they engines. When the engines are run up, Dixie starts the taxi. “Call me Dixie. What’s your call sign?”

  “The commander calls me ‘Einstein.’ He hasn’t said why.”

  “Okay, Einstein, take off checklist,” then, “Ask for unlimited climb out.”

  “Roger, Dixie.”

  When they are cleared for take-off and unlimited climb, Dixie trips the brakes, and they accelerate down the runway. Airborne, Dixie continues down the runway, picking up speed, and cleaning up the bird. Then, “Grunt.” He pulls back on the stick and they rocket vertical, still accelerating. At 26,000 feet, he pulls the fighter inverted, then rolls upright.

  Einstein, “Holy shit! I’d no idea.”

  “Just getting started. Grunt.” He rolls and puts the jet into a minimum turn, then rolls that into a loop, then a Cuban 8. Picking up speed, he climbs in a vertical scissors. Twenty-five minutes of intense air combat maneuvering later, he brings the’14B around into the landing pattern. Dixie has a huge grin on his face. Ten minutes later, they’re on the ground and opening the canopy as they stop in front of the hanger. “God, that felt good.”

  “Sir, what we just did? Is this how Commodore Hunt flies?”

  “She’s a better pilot than me, but it does give you a taste.”

  “The Hun is fucked.”

  “Understand, Einstein, most of her people can do all of this as well. We have years of training to develop our skills. In time, the Germans will get much better. That’s how combat works. The sloppy or lazy die. The best pilots survive to fight again and get even better. Well, until they burn out.”

  Cassidy helps them unhook and climb down. Dixie asks, “Butch, how many do we have?”

  “Two for testing, sir.”

  “Who do you have who can ferry them to England?”

  “Right now? Just Einstein here.”

  “Why do you call him that?”

  “He’s a test pilot without a death wish, sir.”

  “Okay, prep these two to fly to England tomorrow. Einstein and I will deliver them.”

  “Sir, we haven’t even started weapon release testing.”

  Lee looks him in the eye, “Butch, she’s down to three usable aircraft to stop an invasion. There isn’t time. Prep them. Put a weight in the rear ejection seat and load us with ferry tanks, missiles, and 20 mm. Get us a tanker if you can. We fly out tomorrow at six. Oh, and paint them grey with Black Knight markings.”

  Leroy Grumman joins them, “Sir, I understand the urgency. But, can you please give us a little more time for testing? Getting them there is useless if it kills her.”

  They stare at each other, then Lee nods, “Shorten the test schedule and work it around the clock. When I leave here, I’ll be flying to England. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Then we ship aircraft to England until she has twelve new birds. Once she has twelve, we can supply everyone else and keep testing.”

  HARD SHELTER 1, RAF ALCONBURY

  1048, 23 September, 1942

  Spike is walking from the bathroom when Swede walks up and salutes, “Spike, tell me about the new German bird.” They walk toward Control.

  “Swede, why were you over London? I put you on intercept.”

  “Fighter Control redirected us while you were pre-flighting.”

  “Okay, I put you there because protecting the fleet and A-10’s is pri one. We lost Ghost Rider. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Roger, Spike. Can you tell me about the fighter?”

  “It looks like a Super Tiger, but the intakes are more like ours or the ‘15’s. It’s a nine ‘G’ plane. I think they can turn with us at altitude, but I’m not sure of all of its capabilities yet.”

  “I’ll brief the crews that the Germans have a generation four bird. The pilot any good?”

  She nods, “He tried to snipe us from below. Had I not climbed when I did, he may have nailed us. Swede, make sure the crews are getting their rest, okay?”

  “Roger, Spike.” He stops and turns her to face him, “Are you okay, Spike?”

  She avoids eye contact. “I have to be, don’t I.”

  “How many?”

  “Seven. God, I’m tired, Swede. When is it going to end?”

  “Spike, you need to go straight to bed. Doc Swede is ordering no less than eight hours of shut eye.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Bull shit. If you don’t, I’ll knock you out and dump you in your bed. If I knew how wasted you were, I would have left you to sleep with Puck…You know what I mean.”

  She rolls her shoulders back and stands straight, looking him in the eye. “Swede, do you have anyone else?”

  He nods, “Trollop and Mouse. They’ve rested.”

  “Okay, have someone wake me if I’m needed.” She turns on her heel and walks away, then stops and looks back, “Swede, we’re only about two hundred miles from the invasion beach. The Germans could be here in a day. Find us a field south of London. If London falls, we’re doomed anyway.”

  “You don’t think the Brits can stop them?”

  “With what? Most of their troops are in Africa or the south of England.”

  “Fuck, you’re right. Okay. Fuck, you know they’re probably gunning for this place.”

  “Yeah, and turn around all the trucks Thud is bringing up here.”

  “Will do, Sam. Now, get some rest.”

  “Going.”

  BRIDGE, HMS CUMBERLAND, NORTH OF INVASION FLEET

  1051, 23 September, 1942

  Captain Maxwell-Hyslop stands on the starboard bridge wing of his command. The beautiful canoe stern is awash. Black smoke boils up amidships and from Mount X. Looking aft, he can see the mangled aft superstructure. His crew is taking to the boats. The old girl’s a goner and there is nothing left to do. A steam explosion mixes white steam with the black smoke.

  Beyond his ship, not a thousand meters away, the Scharnhorst’s guns pound away at the HMS Suffolk. Both ships are damaged, but still fighting. As he watches another salvo from the German ship find its target, he begins to shake. His hands on the rail whiten and he clenches his teeth, “You son of a bitch. You whelp of a whore. I will make you pay.” He makes his way to the boat check, checking for survivors as he goes. Most of the boats are gone, and he finds a lieutenant organizing men into the last of the them. The LT and ratings stop and salute. “Carry on, gentlemen. Lieutenant, is this the last of them?”

  “Chief Anders is doing a final sweep, sir.”

  Chief Anders walks out and salutes, “No remaining personnel in any accessible compartment.”

  The boat lurches beneath their feet.

  “Very well, Lieutenant, get boat eleven underway.”

  “Aye sir.”

  The captain and Chief Anders climb into boat twelve and they help man the ropes lowering the boat into the water. Then they unhook, and using an oar, they push the boat clear of the stricken cruiser. They are about fifty meters away when the Cumberland lurches her bow up, rolls over, and slides beneath the waves.

  QUAY, NORTH SHIELD, UK

  1056, 23 September, 1942

  Rommel paces back and forth as one by one his unit drive off the boat and onto the pier. A civilian ship’s captain approaches, “Herr Field Marshal.”

  Rommel turns, “How many of my men did you kill?”

  The captain lowers his head, speaking quietly, “Sixteen, Herr Field Marshal. They starte
d the vehicles before they were ordered to. The exhaust exceeded what our ventilation was designed to handle. I, of course, take full responsibility.”

  “Very good, Captain. You are responsible. Make sure it does not happen again, understood? We must take care to proceed and lose no more. Good day.”

  A staff lieutenant approaches, “Herr Field Marshal, I have General Weber on the radio.”

  Rommel strides to the command vehicle, steps in and picks up the mic, “What did you know of the attack jets the Americans are using?” He can hear the drone of propeller engines in the distance.

  “They are new in theater, Field Marshal. We had no intelligence.”

  “I see. Transfer your focus to these new jets. Interview your pilots. I want to know everything there is to know about them.” The drone is louder.

  “Yes, Herr Field Marshal.”

  Water geysers up as bombs start falling on the waterfront. Rommel looks up and sees a formation of Lancaster’s at about 15,000 feet. “We’re being bombed by Lancaster’s. Lancaster’s! You must control the skies.”

  The light cruiser Koln fires two missiles and two bombers tumble out of the sky. “It will be addressed, Herr Field Marshal.” Two more Lancaster’s go down.

  4TH PLATOON, EASY CO, 509TH PARACHUTE REGIMENT, NORTH OF NORTH SHIELD, UK

  1508, 23 September, 1942

  PFC Rodriguez lays behind his M-1919 machine gun. They’ve moved a few times to consolidate the battalion lines. It’s quiet now, but his barrel is so hot it sizzles when any grass touches it. The guys are frantically digging in behind him.

  SSGT Sandusky taps his foot and whispers, “Time to fall back into the trench, Johnny.”

  He nods his head as the guys lay down suppressing fire. PFC Danny Todd jumps out and helps him haul the heavy gun back into the trench. They make it two steps and Danny stumbles, red blossoming on his chest. Danny drops his end, and Johnny gets hit in the head and goes down.

  500 FEET ABOVE THE INVASION BEACH, NORTH OF NORTH SHIELD

  LT Albert ‘Okie’ Henderson, USMC, rolls his A-10 on its side to take another pass at the beach. He can see burning trucks, tanks, and other German equipment. A shadow passes over him as he rolls in and he instinctively pulls up on the stick. He feels the thud of rounds hitting his new bird. “Okies hit. Still flying.” He pushes the climb to meet his new adversary and sees a ME-163B ahead of him.