by M L Maki
“Yes, sir. We just received two more squadrons.”
Brooke, “Very good. Tell me, Commodore, what sort of armored vehicles did your army have in 1990.”
“It isn’t my area of expertise. But, if I recall, they had composite, top secret armor and the gun was a 120mm.”
Brooke turns to Eisenhower, “Tell me we’re building these future tanks today?”
Eisenhower, “Not that I know of.”
Brooke continues, “I am authorized to purchase up to 5000, if you have a tank that can stand against the new German tank.”
“Our Shermans and Grants are faring no better. Only artillery or A-10s seem to work. I will make inquiries.”
Spike, “I also have some connections. I you like, I will ask, too.”
Brooke looks at her, “Could your navy be building tanks?”
Spike smiles, “Yes, for the Marine Corps. Admiral Klindt is Vice CNO for special projects. If anyone knows, he does.”
Eisenhower, “Please do, Commodore. Something else we need to consider; a squadron of Russian fighters is coming to Kenley tomorrow for refueling. They plant to continue to Saint Petersburg. We don’t want to have any friendly fire.”
Dowding, “I shall brief my crews.”
Spike, “As will I. I understand they’ll be flying the War Eagle.” She thinks for a moment, “Sir, if the Germans engage the Russian planes, that could bring Russia back into the war.”
Dowding, “May we direct them to land at Ouston?”
Eisenhower laughs, “No, but if they tangle, they tangle. I don’t want to lose a single plane defending a non-combatant country.”
Spike, “Are they staying for crew rest, or continuing on?”
“I don’t know. Russians are notional.”
“If they stay for crew rest, I’ll be setting watches to keep them away from our gear.”
Eisenhower laughs again, “A good point.”
GERMAN OCCUPIED RAF OUSTON
0750, 3 October, 1942
A helicopter flares and lands and Field Marshal Rommel steps out holding his hat. General Weber salutes, “Heil Hitler.”
Rommel returns the salute, “Heil. Your office, General.” They walk silently into a building just off the tarmac. They walk through the outer office filled with Weber’s operations staff, who all stand and salute.
In Weber’s office, he pours coffee for them both, “I trust all is well with the advance?”
Rommel sips his coffee, “We advance. In fact, we’re nearly on schedule. That, and our 3rd Division friends are a little ahead of schedule.”
Weber looks up, “Word of atrocities have reached me.”
Rommel waves a hand, “The SS do as they do. Two things, the American fighters have most decidedly not been destroyed, and the cursed Devil’s Cross is wreaking havoc on my tank units. We have lost substantially more vehicles then we planned. I do not know if we’ll have enough to make our push on London.”
Weber, “Victories against the US Navy planes come hard. We recently killed two on the same sortie. Their numbers indicate they’re getting new aircraft. We’ve detected what looks like training flights over the Irish Sea. She’s only deploying her veteran crews. The new pilots must be terribly trained.”
“Agree. Will you hit the students, then?”
“We will, and prepare an ambush for those who rush to their aid. They also keep trying to fly radar planes. Right now, those planes must fly over the Irish Sea to avoid our fighters. If we can, I want to hit the radar planes as well.”
Rommel, “Do we know their base?”
“Yes, it’s in Cornwall.”
“Hit it as well.”
“Yes, Herr Field Marshal.”
Rommel puts his empty cup down, “Tell me, old friend, can we do it?”
Weber, “It all hinges on this: as long as Air Marshal Goering continues to replace my losses, I can maintain at least parity. As long as the Drachendrame lives, the battle is in doubt. I have laid several ambushes already, but she either fails to materialize, or she defeats those arrayed against her. The good news is they are leaving us alone here, for now. It’s a concession to our success, no?”
Rommel, “Maybe. Now that we have helicopters, I will look into sending a team to Kenley to capture or hill her.”
“That is bold, my friend. Isn’t assassination a bit out of character for you?”
“It’s a time for boldness. I do not see a choice. If we win here, the Americans will regroup. It buys us time to build our forces. When England falls, Russia will sue for peace. In time, our government will moderate and Germany will be strong.”
“Do you think Hitler will allow moderation?”
“I think Hitler will not live forever. Who do you suppose should replace him?”
“A war hero, surely.”
“Perhaps. It’s my hope, that whoever it is, their policies will be more moderate. Still, he has united us as no moderate ever could.”
“If we fail?”
“If we fail, Germany will, almost inevitably, lose out to the production and resources of America. It will all be for naught.”
HARD SHELTER, RAF KENLEY
0830, 3 October, 1942
ADC(AW/SW) Robert ‘Bobby’ Geller helps AD3(AW) Lori ‘Sass’ Givens and AD3(SW) Greg ‘Duck’ Newburg replace the left engine and right wing on Spike’s Tomcat. They’re working to jazz on the radio.
Sass, “She’s going to need a new bird soon. This poor thing has been hammered.”
Geller, “Look at it, Sass. She’s shot down about a hundred planes with this bird. It’s always brought her home. Have you ever played sports?”
“Yeah, basketball.”
“Did you have a favorite pair of shoes or shorts or something?”
“Yeah, I had a favorite ball. I always shot well with it.”
“Well, with pilots, they’re trusting their life to a machine. They get damned superstitious about it.”
The music changes to a Louis Armstrong tune, then in mid song, the music stops. They turn and look at the radio, then at each other. They hear, “A message from the Prime Minister.
“Yesterday afternoon, in the German occupied village of Waterloo, forces of Nazi Germany lined up one hundred twenty-four men, woman, and children. With absolute cruelty, the Nazis gunned down elderly men and women. They gunned down mothers with their children. They murdered children. We have some names: Ned Mason, 68 years old, and a survivor of the Great War; Ned’s grandson, 12-year-old Peter; Mrs. Rose Whitmore and her 6-month-old daughter, Elizabeth.
“Mr. Mason, his grandson, Peter, and another boy, Reggie, charged the German guns as the villagers sang our anthem. They charged their attackers, not to prevent the attack, but to bring focus on themselves in hopes of sparing those innocents behind them.
“The German army did this to cow us; to drive us into submission. They do not understand the character of the British peoples. We will never submit. Never.
“Never in the history of all humanity has there been a conflict that more clearly defined the difference between barbarism and decency. In this great conflict, all that makes us British is being tested.
“The bonds of brotherhood that connect us will endure. The bonds that connect us to our commonwealth will endure. The bonds that connect us to the American peoples will endure.
“Know this for certain, no dastardly, cowardly, cruel, or inhuman act by the evil Reich we fight will ever turn us from our path. As we stand, today, with all freedom loving people on this earth, our great mission will not fail. Our soldiers, sailors, and airmen will not fail. Humanity will prevail and the light of justice will burn out the evil in its very lair. Rise up, Britain. Rise up, world. This is a fight we must win. We must win, and we shall win.”
Bobby looks at the others and sees the same rage and sorrow he feels, “Continue. Let’s get this bird in the air. I need to talk to the boss.”
GALAHAD 1, 25,000 FEET OVER THE IRISH SEA
1015, 3 October, 1942
Gandhi, “To tell the truth, I’m underwhelmed. He flies with a chip on his shoulder.”
Swede snorts, “He lives with a chip on his shoulder. Hopefully, we can turn him into a leader and a team player.”
“Okay, Boss. We’re where we need to be. Whiskey Tango Lima is 80 miles south.” On radio, “Squire 128, Galahad 1, hard deck is angels 10. We split and merge. Fight is on at the merge.”
Alcott, Boyington’s RIO, “Galahad 1, Squire 128, Wilco.”
Swede slides into a graceful turn and circles back. “He’s used to fighting in the horizontal. We’re going vertical. Let’s see how he reacts.”
Gandhi, “Got it, brother.” The two jets meet at 1200 knots closure.
Swede, “Gs.”
Gandhi, “He went vertical.”
Swede idles back his engines and pushes his wings forward, air brake out, and rolls over the top. He goes back to military power and spins upright, easing back on the stick. Gandhi, “He’s inverted, crossing, 800 up.”
Swede climbs to meet him and notices the control surface deflection that warns him Pappy is going over the top rather than rolling to keep climbing. Swede lets him start drifting down, then inverts and pulls onto his six. Gandhi, “Guns. Guns.”
Then, on radio, “Galahad, Whiskey Tango Lima, raid warning north. 10 bandits. Designate raid 12. 65 miles north, on the deck. Missiles fired.”
Gandhi, “Acknowledged Whiskey Tango Lima. Squire, knock it off. Turn to meet them. Turning north.”
Alcott, “Galahad 1, Squire 128, wilco.”
Gandhi to Swede, “Okay, I got 8 missiles inbound. It’s their long-range ones.”
Swede on radio, “Pappy, at my call, break, full burner and pickle countermeasures, both chaff and flares.”
Alcott, “Galahad 1, Squire 128, wilco.”
SQUIRE 128
Pappy, “Okay, our first go. I just don’t wanna fuck up.”
Alcott, “Amen, Pappy. I have the missiles on radar.”
Then, Swede on radio, “Break! Break!”
Pappy, “Gs.” He pulls back his stick and takes his bird into a 9 ‘G’ climb, pickling off countermeasures. He spins to acquire the missiles.
Alcott, “We broke lock.”
Pappy, “Gs,” and turns onto the German aircraft, staying inverted.
Alcott, “Bandits are on the deck. Galahad is 3 miles left in a dive. They fired.”
“Who fired?”
“Galahad. Shit, the Germans have too.”
“Okay, stand by.” Pappy rolls his plane left, “Gs.” He goes vertical, again, pickling off countermeasures. “We fucking need missiles.” The two missiles pass behind them, detonating in the chaff. He reverses back to the Germans, again, inverting.
Gandhi, “Splash 2. Yankee, we need help.”
Alcott, “6,000. 5,000. 4,000. Swede is pulling in.”
Pappy, “Gs,” and puts his bird into a reverse Immelmann.
As they pull out, Alcott, “Swede is ahead and to the left.”
On radio, “Galahad, Arthur, on our way.”
Swede fires and a ‘262 explodes. “Splash 1.” Then, Swede goes after another.
Pappy sees another ‘262 break right. His wings waggle, then, “Fuck. Stay on my wingman.”
MAJOR GUNTER’S ME-262 APPROACHING THE RADAR PLANE BASE
Gunter hears the battle behind him, “They’re fucking destroying my squadron, again. Where are the ‘279s?” He pops over a hill and crosses the airfield dropping his bombs. A SAM is fired. “Fuck, come on, Gunter, this is less than optimal.” Squeezing between two hills, he evades the missile and is free over the Atlantic.
“I’m so weary of losing men.”
GALAHAD FLIGHT OVER NORTHERN WALES
Gandhi, “Splash 1,” and another ‘262 falls to their gun. They’re flying toward the cliffs of northern Wales at 550 knots and 50 feet.
Swede pops up and Pappy follows, “Gs.”
Gandhi, “2, 1, crossing.”
Pappy, “Gs,” climbing to miss Swede, then turns to follow. Swede rolls left and pulls onto a ‘262 flying over the fields below them.
Alcott, “Bandit, 4 o’clock high.”
Pappy, “Gs,” and pulls up and to the right to face the ‘262, and fires on it. Not leading enough, his rounds pass behind it. “Gs.” He rolls left in a yoyo and pulls onto the German fighter.
They hear Gandhi, “Splash 1.”
Pappy’s ‘262 is closing on Swede and Pappy gets on it it’s six and squeezes off another burst. His rounds stitch the fighter up the center of the fuselage, hitting the cockpit. The German noses down into a hill, exploding.
Alcott, “Splash 1.” On intercom, “Swede is climbing.”
Then, they hear Lizard, “Splash 2. Gandhi, where are you?”
Gandhi, “North Wales, climbing.”
Lizard, “Galahad flight, we are climbing out north of you. Form on us. Report fuel.”
Gandhi, “4.2. Found you.”
Alcott, “4.0.” Then to Pappy, “She called us Galahad flight. Is that a call sign change?”
Pappy, “God, I hope so. I got a, um, we got a kill.”
Alcott, “Yeah, my first.”
“My seventh.” They settle in on Swede’s wing as they approach Arthur 1.
OVER THE BRISTOL CHANNEL
Over the radio, “RAF Angle has been attacked. The German is heading south.”
Lizard, “The boss says let him go. The damage is done.”
Gandhi, “Roger.”
As the two planes of Galahad flight form up on Arthur 1, Pappy asks, “Are you okay?”
Alcott, “I am. God, my mom would be fucking pissed.”
He laughs, “It’s crazy. One moment, you act like a lady, the next you’re out cussing a longshoreman.”
She laughs, “My family is Massachusetts proper. I never lived up to my mother’s expectations.”
“You did good back there. Thank you.”
“We’re a team. We kick ass together.”
“I’m a lucky guy. I fly and fight with prettiest dame in the world.”
“Major, if you think you’re getting into my bed, you’re wrong. I’d rather fuck a goat.”
“Why?”
“I let you between my legs, you would lose all respect for me and some German motherfucker would kill us both. Get your quim somewhere else.”
“Quim?”
“Vagina, Major. Not a polite word.”
They hear Lizard, “Okay, Galahad flight. The boss wants you to RTB, refuel, rearm, and sweep north. We’ll handle the sweep now.”
Gandhi, “Arthur 1, Galahad 1, wilco.”
Alcott, “Arthur 1, Galahad 2, wilco.” To Pappy, “We aren’t squires anymore.”
NEWPORT NEWS SHIPYARD, NORFOLK, VIRGINIA
0600, 3 October, 1942 (1100 GMT)
Mrs. Rayburn, wife of the Speaker of the House, swings a bottle of champagne against the stem of a new aircraft carrier and announces, “I christen thee Yorktown. May God Bless her and all who sail on her.”
The Yorktown is built on the hull of an Iowa class battleship and is nine hundred ten feet long and on hundred sixty-five feet wide, with a nine-degree angled deck. Unlike the Essex class, the flight deck is armored. The huge ship is sitting in one of the largest dry docks in the world. The flooding valves open and begin to fill the dock.
Admiral Lee admires the Yorktown and next to it, another carrier under construction in the same class. Captain Todd ‘Groovy’ Miller asks, “Admiral, a year ago, could you have even dreamed all this?”
Lee smiles, “It would have been a nightmare, not a dream. You’ve climbed fast. Are you comfortable handling her?”
“If I said yes, I would be an idiot. I’m concerned, sir, but I learned from the best.”
“You were an apt student.”
“Dixie, how’s sh
e doing?”
“She’s in three digits now. I think a hundred and one.”
Groovy, “Damn. That’s way more than any pilot ever got in World War II.”
“Yeah. They would send the pilot back to train, so big kill numbers were rare.”
“When the Army Air Corps takes over in England, is she going to stay a Commodore?”
Lee, “I don’t know. They want to give her a hero’s welcome selling war bonds.”
“Have you approved that? That could destroy her. She’s a warrior, not a cheerleader.”
“I have no choice right now and she does need a break.”
RAF KENLEY
1110, 3 October, 1942
The two ‘14s of Galahad flight land side by side. They taxi to refuel and rearm. Alcott, “Major, I need to piss.”
Pappy opens the canopy, “Sure. I ought to stretch my legs as well.” He climbs down after Alcott and walks over to Swede, “How many?”
Swede looks at him, ‘Five. You got one and Spike, two. Do not ever ask her about her kills.”
“Why?”
“Because it pisses her off. Don’t do it. Also, tonight, you’re going to enjoy a wetting down. She won’t be there. Don’t get too full of yourself because you’re the first of the new crew to get a kill. The least of us have over twenty.”
“How about you? What’s your total?”
“Sixty-five. The kill today gives you three, right?”
Pappy, “Seven.”
Swede shakes his head, “I’ve read your history. We don’t count kills on the ground. The kill has to be airborne and manned to count. Do no inflate your kills. No one here will respect you for it.”
“Yes, sir.”
They hear the sound of jet aircraft overhead. They almost sound like Griffins. Swede studies the sky until the jets come into view. They have swept wings like the F-86 Saber, but the central bottom scoop intake is the same as an F-16s. Painted on each plane is the red star of Russia. Swede drops his head, “Damn, the Russians are here. I got shit to do.”
COMMODORE’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY
1340, 3 October, 1942
Sam walks in after her shower and sits down. Her inbox is full. She opens a drawer and pulls out paper:
