by M L Maki
“Good. I understand someone in the army wanted a separate women’s club?”
“Yes, I squashed it. It didn’t pass the smell test and I believed you’d oppose it.”
“I would. In my unit, men and women have equal responsibilities and equal treatment.”
A radio talker, “Raid warning south. Designate raid 6. 16 fast movers out of France.”
Spike, “Direct Galahad and Percival to the raid. Direct Little John north and Tuck to orbit over Dover. Launch Gawain and Robin.”
“Raid warning north. Designate raid 7. 12 fast movers climbing out of Ouston.”
Spike, “Direct Little John and Tuck to intercept. Keep them clear of the SAM sites. Prepare my bird. When airborne, direct Gawain to the north.”
She looks at Andrews, “All recreation facilities will be open to men and women, with separate locker rooms. The clubs should memorialize our fallen.”
“Yes, Commodore.”
She rises and runs out.
GUNTER’S ‘262, EAST OF THE THAMES RIVER MOUTH
Gunter’s ten aircraft formation turns west and flies up the Thames. They dodge fishing boats and small craft on the approach to London. He goes over the map in his head, again. He feels the plink of occasional small arms fire. A British destroyer sits at anchor in the estuary. Several of its machine guns open up and one of his aircraft goes away.
Gunter, “Men, ignore the fire. Time to turn.” He climbs his bird to clear the chimneys of London and turns south to RAF Kenley. He loses another aircraft to a barrage balloon.
ARTHUR 1, TAKING OFF FROM RAF KENLEY
Spike cleans up her bird and climbs. At 500 feet, she turns east, “Got ‘em.” She brings up her nose and rudders over a bit, then fires her 20mm cannon. She hits a jet and it goes down, crashing into a house. “Jesus Christ. Damn, but no way to prevent it.” She fires on another and it goes down in a backyard.
On radio, “Birds away.” She puts her F-14 on the deck, clearing the space for the SAMs. Then, “Splash two. They’re breaking south.”
Spike passes over the Tower of London at 300 feet, pulls up to intercept the fleeing jets. “Where are they, Lizard?”
Lizard, “They’re scattered and on the deck.”
She goes to full military, still climbing, “We’ll hit them over the channel.”
“Arthur, Yankee, raid warning east. Designate raid 9.”
She keeps climbing and orients toward the new threat.
Lizard, “Yankee, Arthur 1, climbing to engage.” To Spike, “Boss, they’re six aircraft at 2000 feet and six hundred knots.”
“Are they transmitting?”
“No.”
“Thanks.”
As they close, Lizard says, “Jesus, Boss, these things are small.”
V-1 FLIGHT OVER THE CHANNEL EAST OF LONDON
Oberlieutenant Munster is flying a modified ME-262B behind five Fi-106 Cherrystone (V-1) rockets. Sitting behind him is a major who is controlling the flying bombs. Unlike the original design, these V-1s have improved engine and control systems. Munster studies the sky in front of his flock as they fly straight on, “Major, I see missile launches ahead.”
“We should fall back a little. I’ll spread the formation.”
Munster throttles back, and watches as three of the V-1s are hit.
The major, “I have set the others, we may go.”
Munster inverts and dives away from the fight.
ARTHUR 1, CLOSING THE V-1’S
Spike, ‘What the hell are those?”
One is bugging out. The others, I don’t know. Lock.”
Spike, “Fox 1, Fox 1,” and pickles off two AIM-7s. One of the missiles immediately loses lock and tumbles. The other tracks in and another V-1 explodes. The remaining missiles fly by and she gets a good look. “It’s a doodlebug, a V-1. Grunt.” She puts her bird in a steep bank and turns after the missiles.
“I didn’t think they got those made until ’44?”
“Well, they’ve got them now. Call it in.” She lines up a gun shot and hits the last missile and it tumbles and falls into a farm, exploding and creating a huge crater. She goes after the rest, picking them off one by one.
GERMAN OCCUPIED RAF OUSTON
0644, 1 October, 1942
General Weber studies the map. An aid come in, “Report from Major Gunter. The raid on Kenley was successful. Six aircraft lost.”
“Werner, we can’t afford more victories like that. We’ve lost nearly a hundred planes in a few days.”
“Sir?”
“Very well, send him to me when he returns.”
Lieutenant Werner, “Heil Hitler!”
RAF KENLEY
0712, 1 October, 1942
Spike flies over the airfield. The shorter runway’s been holed, twice. Two bombs hit near the cross where the runways meet. One of the new barracks is on fire, and a hanger. Percival flight ahead of her makes the cut and lands first. Spike is next. She taxies her jet to her hanger and shuts down. A C-56 lands next and comes to a stop nearby.
Spike climbs down, “Lizard, we’ll do the post brief in minute.” She walks over to where sailors in dungarees and pea coats are coming off the big transport. Gandhi stands waiting, he shouts, “New personnel to me. Black Knights form here, the other squadrons, form there. Support staff, over here.” He walks up and down the line, shepherding the men and women into position.
The last are ten men in black BDUs carrying enormous amounts of gear. Spike recognizes some of them and calls out, “SEALs to me.”
LT Russel ‘Triage’ Jeremy salutes, “Platoon B, SEAL Team 1, reporting.” He gives her a huge grin, “Good to see you, Spike.”
Spike returns the salute, smiling, “Good to see you, too, Triage. Please introduce me to your team.”
“Yes, ma’am. Senior Chief Pickering is our equipment specialist. MR1 Sebring is his assistant. You’ve met Broke Dick, Wizzee, and Mac. Meat 1 through 3 are BM3 Doug Adams, BM3 Jacob Warner, and BM3 Paul Peterson. And this is my assistant team leader, Ensign Jeremiah Buford.”
Buford, salutes and puts out his hand, “Please to meet you, Commodore.” She takes it, meeting his gaze, “You too, Ensign.” She turns and goes down the line greeting each person in the platoon.
Cooper runs up, “Sorry, Spike.”
“Gentlemen, this is my yeoman, Radar, he’ll get you settled in. I need you in my conference room in thirty minutes.”
Triage salutes, “Yes, ma’am.”
As she walks away, two ‘14s take off. Swede meets her in the hanger. “What are we doing with SEALs?”
“We’re briefing in thirty. I think you should be there.”
“Will do. We have new pilots coming in. I’m going to sort them out. Thanks for approving our curriculum.”
Spike nods, “It was well thought out. You and Thud did well. We want to keep these guys out of combat until they’ve mastered the ’14, if we can.”
“Agreed.”
“How are you doing, Swede?”
“It seems there’s a new, hard lesson every day. At least I have Gloria, who do you have?”
“It’s different with women in command, Swede.”
“Yeah. For men it’s: Ensigns cannot marry, JGs should not marry, Lieutenants may marry, Lieutenant Commanders should marry, and Commanders and above must marry. For women, being married to the service is supposed to be enough. It’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Yes, but it’s real bullshit.”
“Bullshit is bullshit. You don’t step in it and move along. Besides, during the war, they waved a lot of that shit.”
“Swede, what are you and Gloria going to do?”
“We’re getting married as soon as it’s okay. I’ll do everything I can to support her dreams while chasing my own.”
“Are you staying in?”
“Probably. Lord knows, I’m a terrible lumberjack. What about you?”
Spike stops, “I don’t know. I joined the navy to be an astronaut. Now, it doesn’t matt
er. Truth, Swede, I have trouble imagining a life after the war.”
“You need a dream. Don’t you dream of horses?”
She shakes her head, smiling, “That’s my families dream.”
They watch as new ‘14s start landing at Kenley. The first of the new planes land and roll out, Spike, “Shaky one wire.”
Swede, “Agreed. What do you dream of?”
The next one down, she says, “Okay, two wire.”
The third comes down, “Agreed. This one is slow.” The plane’s nose is too high, dancing on the edge of a stall.
Spike, “We need to talk to that pilot. He’s too close to the edge.” The fourth plane makes a near perfect approach and landing, “Wow, they have it together.”
The fifth makes a good approach, but floats the flare and touches down too late. They can hear the brakes and tires screeching as they pilot tries to avoid an over run. Swede, “That one needs to be talked to, as well. If it works for you, I’ll do the ass chewing.”
“It’s your squadron.” They watch as all five planes taxi to their designated spots and stop.
SEAL BARRACKS, RAF KENLEY
0835, 1 October, 1942
Triage and Buford share a room. As they unload their gear, Jeremiah asks, “Is she married?”
“Who?”
“The Commodore.”
“Dude, none of us are married. I had a girl back in San Dog. She won’t be born until 1967, and I ain’t a fucking pedophile. By the time she’s old enough to date, I’ll be a sixty-nine-year old codger.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I had no idea. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“In this job, you need to think. Why do you want to know about the Commodore?”
Buford smiles, “Just curious. Do you know her?”
“I’ve met her. She started the war on the Vinson as a lieutenant and now she’s a flag officer.”
“Wow. How did you meet?”
Triage looks at him, “God, you’re full of questions. First time I saw her, she was SAR swimming, rescuing sailors from the Stoddard. The boss was chewing her ass.”
“Why?”
“Dude, we have an op to plan. Let’s go.”
COMMODORE’S CONFERENCE ROOM
0900, 1 October, 1942
Spike concludes, “I need the photo’s back. I don’t have any idea how he will be dressed and he’s supposed to be alone. Questions?”
BM1 Steve ‘Mac’ Cook, “What is so damn important about this guy that we need to fish him of occupied France. It was hard enough getting him in before?”
Spike, “Succinctly, it’s none of your fucking business, Mac. Any other questions?”
Mac, “Why?”
She sighs, “Mac, because at this juncture, the less you know the better. If you fail, and please don’t fail, you can’t reveal what you don’t know. Just know it’s important.”
Buford, “It’s important, ma’am, so we won’t fuck, ah, foul it up.”
She meets his gaze, “You can plan for everything but the enemy.” She looks away and turns to Triage, “I trust your judgement out there. Know this, if it blows up, we’ll do everything we can to get you out.”
Swede, “I’ll have two birds in the air as your cover.”
Triage, “Hell, guys, if it was easy, the Army would do it. If it was hard and stupid, they’d send in the Marines.”
She catches Triage’s gaze and grins, “We’re a long way from the south Pacific.”
He returns her smile, “Yes, ma’am, and this time, you can leave the swimming to us.”
Swede sees Ensign Buford watching them, his lips pinched together, eyes narrowed, and brow set. Then, his face flushes, and his eyes widen, and he stares at Sam, swaying toward her. Swede watches, bemused, as Buford’s eyes shutter and he shakes his head, looking away. Swede knows that look.
Spike motions to Swede to follow her, and walks to her office. Swede, “At least, it isn’t the bathroom, this time.”
She laughs, “Yeah, Swede. Look, is this going to work?”
“You covered all the bases. Anything you could plan for, is planned for. Are you okay?”
“I’m tired of that question, Swede.”
“Sam, if I can’t ask it, then who can?”
“I’m tired. I’m tired of sending good people out to die.”
He nods, “Speaking of good people, Gandhi is doing the initial orientation of the new pilots. Shall we check in?”
“Sure.”
They go to the ready room and ENS Von Nix shouts, “Attention on deck!” Everyone stands.
Spike looks behind her, then wryly smiles, “Carry on.” They all sit back down.
Gandhi, “Commander Swedenborg, Commodore Hunt, may I present our new air crews. The pilots are Major Greg ‘Pappy’ Boyington, Lieutenant Jacqueline Cochran, Ensign Mical DeGraaff, Ensign Michael Landes, and Ensign Von Nix. The RIOs are Ensign Margaret Alcott, Ensign Julian Everling, Ensign Steve Ulhe, Ensign Robert Carnegie, and Ensign Heather Kohlman.”
Swede, “Boyington, how many hours of ACM training do you have in the Tomcat?”
Boyington, “About six hours each. We all have about 300 hours of ACM in the War Eagle, and I have over a thousand hours of actual combat in the P-40.”
Swede nods, “What’s your impression of the Tomcat?”
“I’m in love, sir.”
Swede smiles, “Cochran, what’s your impression?”
“It’s an amazing aircraft, sir. Its agility, for its size, is incredible.”
“Ensign DeGraaff?”
“It’s amazing, but it doesn’t like to land, sir.”
“True. We’ll get to that. Ensign Landes?”
“As they said, sir.”
“Ensign Nix?”
“It kicks ass, sir. It’s fast, agile, and fun as shit, but it’s a demanding mistress.”
Swede grins, “What do you mean, Nix?”
“Sir, if you don’t give it your absolute best, it will make you pay.”
Swede, “Agreed. Commodore, do you want to speak to them?”
She looks at the new faces. “I want you to recognize that the German Luftwaffe is getting better each day. To keep up, all of you have to get better each day. If you don’t learn, you’ll die.” She turns to Gandhi, “Are they sorted into teams?”
Gandhi, “They flew in as pairs, but Walker left it to us, Spike.”
Spike, “For now, let them choose. Ground school today. Four to six training hops a day with a flight leader. They don’t fly combat until you clear them.”
Swede, “Roger that.” Then, “Who was flying 129 and 131?”
DeGraaff raises her hand, “I was flying 129. I came in too slow.”
“If you stalled it would have killed you both. Some of us are going to die. Don’t die a stupid, useless death. Know that every landing is graded, and we’re grading your judgement as much as your skills. 131?”
Nix raises his hand, “I floated my landing and should have aborted.”
Swede, “Yes, you should have. The ground crews are inspecting your brakes right now. You just got here and your bird is broken. The most important thing in aviation is good judgement. Good skills can only make up for so much stupidity. You are all new in type. Normally, you would receive 400 hours of training before we even assign you to a squadron. The war has forced our leadership to send you out with minimal training. That is not your fault. The only way any of you are going to survive the war is to learn your job as quickly as you can, and to make good sound judgements. Sort yourselves out into teams.”
The raid siren sounds, “Carry on.” They newbies watch Swede, Gandhi, and Spike run out of the room.
Von Nix asks, “What do we do?”
Boyington stands, “We look after our planes, without our birds, we might as well be infantry. Then we get squared away.”
CHAPTER 20
GERMAN OCCUPIED RAF OUSTON
1123, 1 October, 1942
Major Gunter taxis his ‘262 to its hanger and stops. Th
e three other survivors stop alongside him. They had just escorted in sixteen more ‘262s, ten more ‘163s, and six transport planes. When he opens his canopy, he’s greeted by a light rain. His plane captain gives him a hand and he jumps to the ground. He looks at the new cargo planes. He’s never seen such a large aircraft. He’s shocked to see the rear of the plane open two huge clam shell doors. He watches the ground crew pull out an odd-looking aircraft. When they open its rotors, he realizes it’s an auto-gyro type aircraft.
A staff sergeant salutes, “Major, the general wishes to see you.”
A captured American jeep takes him to the headquarters building. He walks into the office and salutes, “Heil Hitler!”
Weber, “How did the operation go?”
“Four aircraft made it over the field and dropped their ordinance. I could see buildings burning and one of the runways was hit at least once. One thing, sir, I couldn’t find the fuel tanks. They have to be there, but they were too well disguised.”
“It’s all right. You did well. We launched five experimental missiles at London as you left the area. It was the counter I promised to help you escape. Radio intercepts indicate you faced the Drachendame. It seems you have tangled with her more times than any living pilot.”
“I have been fortunate, sir.”
“You have also been skilled. It’s my thought that we ought to trap her using her confidence against her. First, we now have helicopters. They can be used to ferry troops around the battlefield. There primary use will be to evacuate the wounded, but they have other purposes as well. They fly slowly, so it’s critical they be protected.”
“Yes, sir.”
BOEING PLANT, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON
1334, 1 October, 1942 (2134 GMT)
Admiral Lee walks through the door of a huge hanger wearing his flight suit. The lights illuminate the lines of a large delta winged aircraft with four turbojets under the wing root next to the fuselage and a large single vertical stabilizer. A US Army Air Corps major, in his flight suit, comes up and salutes, “Good afternoon, Admiral. It’s a glorious day to fly.”
Lee absently returns the salute, his attention riveted on the aircraft in front of him. “Good afternoon. Major Connery, please give me the tour.”
“Yes, sir. We’re designating it B-46. Its theoretic top speed is Mach 2.1 at 40,000 feet. Its payload is rated at twenty tons.” They walk around the one hundred twenty-five-foot plane. Its fuselage flows over the engine’s nacelles and blend with the wing to fit the four engines. Two internal bomb bays are located forward and aft at the center of gravity. The wings sweep back at sixty degrees. There are two underwing pylons on each side for missiles.
