by M L Maki
2ND PLATOON, A COMPANY, 1ST BATTALION, 15TH REGIMENT, 3RD ID, VALLEY WEST OF LEEDS
Private Andy McDonald watches the stricken jet, trailing fire and black smoke, streaking across the sky. He sees the crew eject at low altitude and realizes they’re going to land between the German position and his own line. He watches the crew come down and two of them immediately cut loose their chutes, and run toward the third whose tangled in his lines.
The Germans start firing and one of the flyers goes down. Andy shouts, “Come on!” He climbs out of his trench and runs forward, not looking back to see if anyone is following.
His sergeant yells, “McDonald! Fuck!”
Andy runs, skidding on the grass, and kneels next to the flyer closest to the Germans. He sees German infantry running alongside the big tanks and opens fire.
Keg, “Thanks man, I’m almost untangled.”
“Okay, let me know when you can move.” Andy continues firing, picking off soldier after soldier, until they go to ground.
Keg, “Ready.” McDonald reloads, stands, and with bullets whipping around him, walks backward.
Andy, “Grab my belt and guide me.” He feels the sharp sting of a bullet hitting his leg, but keep firing.
Keg grabs his harness straps and walks them back to Too Tall and Sweets. Too Tall looks up, ‘Get down guys. Sweets is hurt.”
Keg drops prone and Andy takes a knee. His right leg is aching and he feels blood running down his calf, but he continues firing, “Sir, we have a medic.”
Too Tall, “I’m just getting her ready to move. You ready, sweetie?”
Sweets’ voice is a whisper, “Yeah, do it.”
Too Tall picks her up and runs to the American lines, as the Americans on the line lay down suppressing fire. Andy gets up, walking backward and firing, as Keg guides him back to the trench. The lead Germans tank commander opens his hatch and swings his machine gun toward them, and Andy takes the shot, hitting him in the head. Another round relieves Andy of his helmet and he hits two more Germans just before reaching his trench. Keg, “We’re here,” and guides Andy back into the trench. As he drops into the trench, his right leg collapses and the world tries to go away.
His sergeant’s face swims into view. Sergeant Crabtree says, “That was the bravest fucking idiotic thing I ever saw, McDonald.”
CONTROL, RAF KENLEY
Spike listens to the radio chatter as Swede and Gandhi chase the ‘262 north and Cargo Britches, in Valkyrie 1, flies north for the pick-up. “Yankee, Galahad, we just dodged a SAM near Ouston. Heading south.”
She hears the stress in Gandhi’s voice. “Roger, Galahad. The A-10s over York need cover.”
“Wilco, Yankee.”
“Yankee, Valkyrie 1, we’re taking small arms and tank fire. Falling back over the ridge for pick-up.”
“Roger, Valkyrie.”
LT Colonel Andrews asks quietly, “Commodore, Galahad sounded distraught, but you kept him in the air?”
“If I called them back, it would seem that I don’t trust them, and I do. Swede and Gandhi are among our best. They’ll shake it off and get mission oriented again. We’ll talk it through in debrief.”
VALKYRIE 1, SOUTH OF THE 3RD ID LINE
Cargo Britches brings her helo to a hover, one wheel on the ground. She sees the American troops running over the hill with the wounded. In a moment, Too Tall, Sweets, Keg, Private McDonald, and several other wounded are loaded and she lifts, orients, and heads south.
In the back, the medic is working on Sweets as Too Tall holds her, “You’re going to be okay.”
Sweets, breath labored, “You never were a good liar, Mike.” She coughs, and blood appears on her lips.
Mike, “I need you to be okay.”
Sweets tries to speak, then coughs and more blood comes out of her mouth. The medic has managed to get in a line and has ringers flowing. The helicopter is so loud, he has to keep his head right next to hers. She tries to smile, “Ever wonder what your last words would be?”
“You have to make it, Sweets. I love you.”
“I love you, too, you lug.” She stiffens, then her body relaxes, and she’s still looking at him, but she’s gone. The medic checks her pulse, shakes his head, and shifts to work on another patient.
Mike grabs his arm, pulling him back. The medic looks at him, “She’s gone, sir. Let me save the others.”
Mike lets go of the medic and wraps Sweets up, rocking her in his arms, his tears washing the blood from her face.
GENERAL MOTORS PLANT, DETROIT, MICHIGAN
0516, 29 September, 1942
LTJG James Maki sits in the loaders seat in a wooden mock-up of a tank turret. Admiral Klindt sits in the gunner’s seat. Klindt says, “As I recall, on American tanks the commander sat above the gunner, not behind him.”
Maki, “I’ve seen that, too. But if the tank is hit, the gunner can’t get out. This way each crewman has an escape hatch. It also allows the tanks to be lower.”
“Okay. Why is the loader’s chair sideways?”
“The ammo is stored in a rack at the rear of the turret. Sitting sideways, he can easily grab a round, spin it, and slide it into the gun. Then, he closes the breach and it’s ready to fire. If he stands and lifts his seat out of the way, his head and shoulders are out and he can fire his M-1919 machine gun.”
“Okay, what is the advantage of a lower tank?”
“The lower the tank, the lower the weight for a given thickness of armor, sir.”
“You just have this box thing simulating the gun?”
“Sir, I haven’t received the gun from you.”
“I’m working on it. The army has an anti-tank gun design that is promising. It’s a 105mm rifled gun.”
“Yes, sir. Once I know the size, weight, and shape of the gun, I can finalize the turret design. Can I show you the engine and transmission?”
“Sure,” and they climb out of the mock up and walk to a metal box on heavy casters.
Maki, “I wanted to keep the fuel to the rear and in a separate compartment from the crew. Putting the fuel tanks on each side of the tank, protects the engine, but it makes maintenance a nightmare. With that in mind, we came up with this.” He pulls large slatted double access doors open and the back of the transmission and engine can be seen. “Disconnect power and control cables here. Disconnect the drive lines here and here. Disconnect a quick release for the fuel line up here and remove two bolts here and here. With that done, you can use a ratchet to pull the whole thing out.”
Maki demonstrates by hand cranking a speed ratchet and the engine slides out on two beams. The radiator and fan are on top of the engine. The intake and filter box are on top of the transmission. “This makes engine repair and replacement a cinch. Oh, and I’ve Cadillac working on air conditioning.”
Klindt nods, “Maki, this is well thought out, but why air conditioning?”
“Thank you, sir. Well, first, it’s for CBR defense. I’m not sure yet how it will work, but I want the crew to be able to work in a CBR environment without using respirators, as long as the tank is buttoned up. Next, it’s for crew comfort. On the ship, after a hot watch in the hole, we’d go to an airconditioned space to cool down. These guys have nowhere to go. It seems to me, if they’re comfortable, they’ll fight better.”
“I agree.” Klindt looks at the mock-up of the turret. The front and sides slope significantly back. It looks almost like two saucers placed top to top. “How did you pick the slops on the turret?”
“I got a variety a variety of guns and a sheet of hardened steel. We kept changing the angle and firing at it until we found an angle that would ricochet nearly all projectile types. We’re building mock up armor to test, as well. I can show you a sample here.”
They walk to another stand. The armor has a cross section of a piece of turret. “The trick is to find something light, effective, and easy to build. This one has a ¾ inch hardened steel outer layer, a 2-inch air gap, a 1½ inch layer of mild steel, a 3-inch
layer of sand, and a final 2½ layer of hardened steel. We’ve made sixty of these in various combinations. In a few days, we’ll have these at the Dahlgren proving ground for testing. I assume you can get us in there?”
“I’ll arrange it. Why sand?”
“Well, it’s not just sand. We’re trying out other thicknesses and materials, but I thought that the sand might turn into glass, absorbing the energy. I don’t know if it’ll work.”
“Very good. What about the suspension?”
“I was leaning toward a torsion bar, but the Marines you gave me convinced us to use a horizontal volute spring suspension. It bolts to the hull. The torsion bars pass under the tank. Using the springs keeps the underside clean so that the tank can slide over obstacles. Also, it’s easier to maintain and replace, and should handle the speeds we want.”
Klindt nods, smiling, “Excellent. I’ll get you a prototype gun as soon as I can. Build us a prototype to test the layout and undercarriage. Once you have the gun and armored settled, build five fully functional prototypes for testing. You’ve done well.”
“Thank you, sir. Can you get me the length and weight of the gun? I also need the length after the trunnions, which is critical. With that, I can verify function at full rated load.”
“Okay, what is a trunnion?”
“I’m learning a lot. It’s the point where the gun pivots up and down. The depth it goes into the tank, and height above and below, to allow the gun to elevate and depress are critical to how well it functions. Not something I learned in nuclear power school.”
“True. I’ll get it for you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You know, Maki. You’re becoming too indispensable to send to sea. Are you going to be angry that you missed out?”
Maki is silent, then “Sir, have you read the Horatio Hornblower books?”
Klindt chuckles, “Every one of them.”
Make returns the smile, “That fictional British officer is the reason I joined the navy. That said, I want to do my bit, however that should work.”
“I understand. Get this going and I’ll see what can be done.”
“Yes, sir.”
GERMAN COMMAND ROOM, OCCUPIED RAF OUSTON
1132, 29 September, 1942
General Weber stands and greets Major Gunter, “Tell me about this aircraft you shot down.”
“It was unusual, sir. The wings were swept back about fifteen degrees. It had a single tail with a large square thing on the top. The cockpit was sized for multiple people and it shined like gold. The pilot was good at evasive maneuvering, but could not outrun my beautiful jet. I was jumped by a lone F-14, but succeeded in evading it to return and report.”
“The aircraft you destroyed was a radar countermeasure plane. The gold cockpit is a telling feature. You’ve done very well. The Americans appear to have only one. Your success creates opportunities for all of us.”
“Thank you, Herr General.”
Weber smiles, “Dismissed. Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler.”
500 FEET OVER THE RIVER AIRE, NEAR CASTLEFORD
1202, 29 September, 1942
Major ‘Sparks’ Parker rocks his A-10, studying the ground. The dikes on the Aire and Calder are broken in a hundred different places and the fields are flooded. “2nd Corps, Dog 1, what is your location?”
“Dog 1, 2nd Corps, we are falling back from Selby. The flooding makes the area north of our position impassable.”
“Agreed, 2nd Corps. Recommend shifting west.”
“Negative, Dog 1. Leeds has fallen. We’re racing for the Wash-Bristol line. Please do what you can to delay the Germans.”
“Roger, 2nd Corps, Dog 1, out.”
CONTROL ROOM, RAF KENLEY
1410, 29 September, 1942
Spike stands, studying the map. The Allied armies are in full retreat. The Luftwaffe is focusing on the A-10s. She’s lost two more. The Germans are getting very good at tying up the F-14s, while another group attacks the ground support. Thud walks in, “Spike, I heard about Too Tall.”
“I haven’t got the injury report yet. Cargo Britches went straight to Guys, but she loaded up with wounded.”
“Yeah. Swede has tasked me to help the Brits design a jamming pod.”
“Any luck?”
“It can be mounted on the same pylon as the TARPs pod. I checked. All the new birds have the correct wiring.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
“Yeah, the best the Brits can do is a fully manual system. We need it to be at least semi-autonomous so the RIOs can do their regular jobs.”
“If it’s a broad band jammer, can’t it be turned on and left alone?”
“It can’t be broad band, that would interfere with our gear, too.”
“So, the RIO has to be constantly messing with it?”
“Yeah, not ideal.”
“Okay. It does detect radar signals, right?”
“Yeah, it has to. Otherwise, you don’t know what to jam.”
“Okay, see if you can build a prototype as is, and continue working to improve it.”
“Roger that. Um, Spike, when was the last time you slept?”
She takes a deep breath, “Thud, thank you for your concern. I’m managing.”
“Okay.”
The watch officer says, “Navy 126, 127, and 128 are coming in.”
Thud and Spike smile at each other, and Spike says, “Thank you. Well, some good news.” They walk out and Spike drives her jeep to the flight line. Standing in the soft English rain, she sees the three brand new Tomcats flare and land.
After they’re positioned in front of the hangers, she walks up and finds LCDR Truman ‘Johnny’ Walker grinning down at her from one of the birds with his infectious smile. Carefully, he climbs down out of his plane. He salutes, then stretches out the stiffness, “Request permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted, you lug. How are you?”
“Still a little sore. Had to bribe a doc to get this flight. Told him it was a ‘refamiliarization’ flight.”
“Right. Are you still training the Russians?”
“Russians, Navy, Army Air Corps, even, shocker, Marines.”
“Are we going to let Marines fly our beautiful jets?”
“We are. They even want to paint them green.”
“They would.” Admiral Lee joins them and they salute.
Lee smiles at Spike, “How are you, darlin?”
“We just lost Merlin. Cargo Britches picked them up under fire and went direct to Guys. The Germans have taken York and Leeds. They also have RAF Ouston and are flying out of it.”
Lee frowns, “What’s their focus?”
“They’re focusing on A-10s. We’ve lost two more. If the Germans recover one of our A-10 pilots, they kill them on sight.”
“I see. Okay, I’ll send replacement pilots and aircraft. I’ve another couple of squadrons finishing up their training. I’ll send them over.”
“Thanks, Dixie, but what are we going to do with Merlin gone? We don’t have a jamming plane.”
“Grumman is working on an AE-14. But it isn’t ready to fly yet.?”
“Damn. Thud and the Brits are working on a jamming pod, but it’s inferior to the Prowler’s capabilities.”
Lee nods, “Johnny is training a class of aircrew for you and the transport we’re flying back is bringing in newly trained ground crew.”
“Thank you.
Lee turns to Walker, “Could you excuse us?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lee and Spike walk away, and once out of earshot, “What is this I’m hearing about you and Swede?”
Spike laughs, “He was melting down and I needed to pee, so I dragged him into the head. I don’t mind the rumors. It distracts folks.” She stops.
Lee’s eyes narrow, “Who’s he with?”
“Way off the record?”
“Of course.”
“Swede and Hot Pants are a couple.”
> “A good pairing, I think. He’ll respect her need to fly.”
“They got together before he was promoted and given command. Given the situation now, it needs to stay discreet.”
“Of course, but how am I ever going to be a Grandpa if you don’t get laid?” He laughs at her outrage.
“Dad!”
“A guy can hope, right?”
“You certainly can hope, but right now, that’s all it is.”
“That’s okay, darlin. Hmm, I see they’re building hard shelters.”
“Yes, enough for eighty planes. They haven’t tried a concerted attack on this field yet, but it’s coming. We need SAMs, but there hasn’t been time.”
“They’re working on something over in Richland. I’ll send you the prototypes.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
“I got a picture,” and he pulls out a black and white photo of a pretty, dark-haired woman with a round face and mischievous eyes. “This is Ashley Smith. Her uncle’s on the House Armed Services Committee. I met her at his house during a party.”
“She looks like she’s waiting for you to sit on a tack.”
He nods, smiling, “She can be ornery, but I like that.”
“Dad, I’m happy for you. When it comes to it, I would love to stand up with you.”
“I can think of no one else. Now, let’s talk about you. Are you eating?”
“Cooper says 3,500 calories a day. I just keep burning them off.”
“Combat does that. Do you think we can hold against the Germans?”
“We have to, Dad.”
CHAPTER 17
ROADHEAD, 14 MILES EAST OF CARLYLE
1522, 29 September, 1942
Ian McCloud leads his two hundred men to the British Army check point south of the village, the Lee Enfield rifle. Behind him walks LT Gus ‘Cuddles’ Grant, kitted out in a Stewart Tartan over his wool coat and flight suit, and grey wool knit cap.
A sergeant steps from a tent and raises a hand, “What’s this?”
“Lad, the Highlanders have come down from the hills and we’ve our blood up.”
“Our orders are to hold here and prevent the Krauts from moving north.”
“Aye, lad, that’s your orders. It isn’t my orders. I told ye, we’ve come down from the hills and we’re spoiling for a fight. There be hundreds of us up and down the line. It be time the Germans learned of Scottish steel. Now, be a good lad, and step aside.”
