by Wagher, Ward
“Admiral,” King said, “there is an old American saying about not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I have heard that,” Forbes smiled, “and I agree.”
§ § §
May 13, 1943; 10 AM
The Queens Private Office
Buckingham Palace
London, England, UK
The queen of England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland, as well as the dominions, looked at the dispatch box with distaste. It was like finding a birthday present sitting on her desk every morning. And she was convinced the gifts were someone’s idea of a bad practical joke. She was late getting to the office this morning and had yet to lift the small mountain of paper out of the box. Invariably it meant a morning’s worth of hard labor to sift through the contents and familiarize herself with the current activities of her government.
Since Margaret Windsor was functionally the head of government as well as the head of state, it was incumbent upon her not to shirk her duties. There were invariably items in the dispatch case that required an immediate decision. She cursed at the box and then looked up to see Prime Minister Clement Atlee as one of the pages escorted into the office. She picked up her notebook and marched over to the conversation nook and slumped into the chair across from Atlee.
“God, Prime Minister, I think I understand why William and Mary did not put up much of a fight when Parliament asserted its supremacy. How do you tolerate all of this bureaucratic nonsense?”
“Ahh, Your Majesty. The paperwork is the mother’s milk for all of us faceless bureaucrats, who toil away in the bowels of one ministry or another. I would think you viewed the dispatch case as bread and honey for your morning’s repast.”
Her vulgar response no longer shocked Atlee. Margaret was earthy in many ways, and he had become convinced she was exactly what the kingdom needed during these times.
“I had a suggestion, Your Majesty if I might.”
“Why the diffidence, all of a sudden, Clement?”
“I had thought that I might provide some assistance in your drudgery,” he barely concealed the smirk, “and help us together to move the paperwork more expeditiously.”
She cocked her head as she looked at him. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, Ma’am, I had thought to bring along one of my more successful clerks to keep the notes of our meetings and work through the dispatch case with you. My request that would be that you provide an office for him in your organization, and he would move between Number Ten and the Palace as needed.”
“Who did you have in mind, then?” she asked.
“Colin Marty has worked in my office for nearly ten years and is a trusted advisor. He is still young, but I thought he would be someone we would both trust.”
“I believe I have met Mr. Marty. Is he here this morning?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Well, bring him in, then.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The queen decided that she would not describe the thin, thirty-five-year-old man as mousy. He exuded confidence and made it clear he knew what he was about. Yet, he lacked the arrogance that characterized many of the up-and-comers. She thought he would be easy to lose in a crowd.
“Good of you to come in, Mr. Marty. Please pull another chair around, and we can get busy.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The man slid a chair over and promptly uncapped a pen.
“Very well,” the queen said, “what do we have this morning, Clement?”
“There are worrying factors concerning the war on the continent, Ma’am. It looks as though the Soviets and the Germans are fully engaged. We were surprised the Soviets continued to prosecute the war after the pasting they received on the first day.”
“I cannot understand how this even got started?”
Atlee shook his head. “There are mixed opinions. The most widely held is that Stalin was stirring things up to distract the people from the general collapse of his economy. There is a minority viewpoint that Schloss has taken a page out of Hitler’s playbook and has decided the time was ripe to take down Stalin.”
“That doesn’t say a lot about either of them,” she said. “What do you think is going on?”
“I tend to side with the faction that says Stalin started things. I don’t think Schloss wanted another war.”
“And things were just settling down, too.” She shook her head sadly. “At least we should be able to stay out of this one. We have a country to rebuild.”
She folded her arms as she thought and then looked up at Atlee. “What is the next item?”
“I have several of my backbenchers agitating to advance the National Healthcare bill.”
“You’re going to have to sit on them, Clement. Something like that will nationalize a broad section of the economy, and I think that will stir unrest as well as make business cautious. When you win the election, you can do whatever you like, of course.”
“That is assuming we win the election, Your Majesty.”
“What? You don’t think you will win?” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.
“I have made it a lifelong habit of not counting my chickens until the shells are broken. I suppose I am a bit superstitious, but there you are. However, I will discourage the backbenchers.”
“And I need to think about when to announce the new elections. We cannot wait too long.”
“We cannot wait too long,” he agreed. “But we do not want to get into a hurry, either.”
Marty looked up with a smile and then continued writing.
“I saw that, Mr. Marty,” the queen said. “We will have no lèse-majesté in these offices.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. I would never think of such a thing.”
She winked at Atlee. “I don’t know, Prime Minister, do you suppose we might find Mr. Marty an office in the Tower?”
“Unfortunately, it sometimes becomes necessary, Your Majesty.”
“In that case, I suppose I must leave that headsman’s ax hanging over you, Mr. Marty. I expect good behavior.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
The meeting continued for another hour, and then Colin Marty spent the morning reviewing the contents of the dispatch case with the queen. He had extensive knowledge of the government and was erudite. Most importantly to the temperamental queen, he was easy to work with. She ended the morning in a much better mood than she began.
CHAPTER FOUR
May 13, 1943; 12 Noon
Family Residence Dining Room
The White House
Washington, DC, USA
Four men sat around the table in the President’s private dining room at the White House. The steward had completed his placement of the prime rib in front of the President and the guests. After he withdrew, Truman looked at his guests.
“Good news and bad news today, Gentlemen? I read the daily summary this morning.”
“We have the First Marine Division ashore on Oahu,” Frank Knox, the Secretary of the Navy said. “The losses we took in the Bay of Bengal are sobering, Mr. President. But we stopped the Japs. They will now have a hard time trying to reinforce their people in Hawaii. Admiral Forbes and Ernie Rey really gutted their fleet.”
Truman looked over at the CNO. “What do you think, Admiral?”
“Frankly, Mr. President, I would recommend you send Admiral King a message congratulating him on stopping the Japanese. This is the first time the Japs have not succeeded in doing what they set out to do.”
“But the cost!” Truman exclaimed. “We just turned the Bay of Bengal red with American blood. The death toll for this battle was worse than what we suffered at Pearl Harbor. Gentlemen, we cannot afford many victories like this one.”
“Mr. President,” said Admiral Leahy, the President’s Chief of Staff, “we all knew this was going to be a long, bloody war. There are two things we can take away from this battle. The first is this will convince the Japanese they are no
t invincible. The second is the intelligence estimate that we sunk more tonnage than they did. We just took a big bite out of the Japanese combat capability. It hurts them far worse than us.”
“You are correct, of course,” Truman said. “The newspapers have not picked up on the scope of our losses. When we announce the details, there are going to be a lot of unhappy Americans. That will be my responsibility to deal with, of course. But we need to work on a plan to help people understand that even victories come with a cost.”
Truman looked down at his untouched plate. “As we sit here eating from this bone china, how many Americans are floating around the Indian Ocean in rafts and life preservers wondering if anybody is still looking for them.”
“I can assure you, Sir, the Ernie Rey has been combing the seas for our people,” The CNO said. “We have recovered quite a few. We have even rescued some Japanese sailors.”
“What has the Japanese fleet done?” Truman asked.
“They withdrew immediately. We suspect they pulled back to Singapore.”
The President looked at his plate again. “I suppose I should try to eat. When I don’t, I really feel the liquor.”
The other three chuckled. Truman sawed a piece of prime rib and stuck it in his mouth. He then speared a garlicked potato.
“Whatever else one can say about this place,” he commented, “they feed me well.”
The conversation subsided as the men consumed their meal. Truman eventually shoved his plate away and looked at his guests.
“The other item I wanted to discuss is a request I received from Herr Schloss.”
Eyebrows raised around the table. “What did he want?” Knox asked.
“He wants to buy another hundred B-17’s, or more if we agree.”
“From everything we heard,” the CNO commented, “he beat up the Soviets pretty good in the opening day of his war. I wonder if things are not going as well as we have heard.”
Leahy cleared his throat. “After Rommel and Model savaged the Russian armor, anybody but Stalin would have decided it wasn’t worth the candle and gone home.”
“So, he is still pushing, then?” the CNO asked.
“Yes, he is,” Leahy replied. “The Germans are bleeding them, but Stalin is still pushing back.”
“How many B-17’s do we have?” Knox asked.
“Something close to four-hundred, I believe,” Leahy said.
“Hell, let’s sell all of them to Schloss. They are not doing us any good,” Knox stated.
“That was my thought,” Truman said. “Schloss would like to trade in kind. I suspect his gold reserves are not what he would like them to be.”
“I would take any of his new-build U-boats he can give us,” the CNO said. “We have eighteen left, but they have been effective.”
“We had also considered that,” Leahy stated, “and I am pretty confident they will sell us their new-build as well as fifty or sixty of the current fleet.”
“We also discussed another possibility,” Truman said with his trademark grin. “After their war with the British ended, they resumed construction on several aircraft carriers and cruisers. Schloss has offered to include them in the trade.”
Knox whistled. “That’s a lot of tonnage.”
“That’s what I thought,” the president responded. “But, when you think about it, they don’t need capital ships right now.”
“He must be very concerned about this war with the Soviets. I wonder what the Brits would think about the trade.” Knox mused. “I know those new ships were making the Brits very nervous.”
“I think we can assume they would be in favor of us taking those ships off the Germans’ hands,” Leahy said.
“Let’s see,” Knox said, ticking off his fingers, “they’ve completed the Graf Zeppelin, and the Österreich is nearly done. The cruiser Seydlitz is nearly done, and they have another of the class on the ways.”
“And they also have a couple of carriers that were merchant conversions,” the CNO added.
“Sirs,” Knox interrupted again. “There is nothing wrong with German design or shipbuilding. Should we consider contracting with them to build us more ships?”
“That is a political question,” Truman replied. “I think I could probably get something like that through Congress, but the quid pro quo would be rough. On the other hand, right now, we can use any tonnage we can get our hands on. I can have Jesse Jones over in Commerce get cracking on the negotiations, although I think he has been working on it.”
“Speaking of that, Sir,” the CNO said, “the carrier Intrepid has passed through the Suez Canal and is headed to join up with Admiral King.”
“I’m sure that made the admiral happy,” Truman said, “and speaking of which, Admiral Leahy, please draft a message for me to send to Admiral King. I want to congratulate him for succeeding in a tough situation. Also, tell him that I want him to patrol aggressively.”
“Is that wise, Sir?” Knox asked.
“If we did as much damage to the Japs as we think, I want to keep them off balance.”
“Of course, Mr. President,” he said.
§ § §
May 13, 1943; 9 AM
Hickam Field
Honolulu, Hawaii
Lieutenant Colonel Owen Ford, USMC ducked involuntarily as an artillery round roared in with the sound of a freight train. Though he had a sandbagged command post, the roof was currently just a tent, which would not slow down any incoming shell that happened to land there. The crash of the explosion was maybe two-hundred yards away.
“Where is the counter-battery?” he yelled.
Major Dorren Ionic was yelling into the field telephone. “We need counter-battery. We are getting pulverized here.”
He tossed the handset back in the bag and looked at Ford. “They are working on it, Sir. Or so, they say.”
“We have two squadrons of Wildcats coming, Major. We do not need this.”
Another shell exploded nearby. “Alright! That does it,” Ford said. “The Wildcats are going to have to go back to the carriers to rearm and refuel. See if you can get a mission change ordered. If we can’t get counter-battery, the Wildcats will have to provide ground support.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” the major replied.
He pulled the field phone out and cranked it.
“Who’s this?” he shouted in the phone.
His demeanor changed suddenly. “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. This is Major Ionic from MAG 19. We’re over at Hickam and the Japs are using us for target practice.”
He waited a moment and then replied again. “Yes, Sir. We are under heavy artie barrage.”
Then, “Yes, Sir, I understand that.”
Ford mouthed who is it? To Ionic. He mouthed back General Meacum.
Ford walked over and reached out his hand for the receiver.
“Sir,” Ionic said, “Colonel Ford would like to speak with you.”
“Ford?” Meacum began, “I don’t have time to listen to your whining. You’ve got to just suck it up and do your job.”
“Sir, I have no way to respond to the Japs. I have fifteen people down already. I just sent the Wildcats back to the carriers to refuel. If they land here, we’ll lose them all.”
“You do not have room in the invasion schedule for the fighters to make the round trip. We need the air support.”
“Yes, Sir.”
General Meacum hesitated. “You’re right, Owen. Sending them back to the carriers is a good call. For the moment, you’re going to have to hunker down. I have more fires than firemen.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
“Break it down.”
Ford heard the click as the clerk on the other end of the line broke the connection. He turned to the major.
“General Meacum approved us sending the Wildcats back to the carriers. We probably have time for two more sorties before we lose daylight. At that point, they have to sit down here.”
“We won’t be ready to refuel them,” Ionic said.
“Major, we will simply have to be ready. And we must get this base in business so the Army can start flying critical cargo in from the states.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Ionic said.
Ford gave him a crooked smile. “The General didn’t say this would be easy. He just said we had to do it.”
“At least the landings went well,” the major replied. “At a guess, I don’t think they will push us back into the sea.”
“Keep thinking those happy thoughts, Major,” Ford laughed.
There was another nearby hit, and they both ducked.
Second Lieutenant Brandon Smith, USMC, banked his Grumman F4F Wildcat over the Pearl Harbor area, looking for targets of opportunity. He now watched his fuel level carefully since the squadron had been directed to return to the carriers. The initial raids during the invasion had wiped out all known Japanese air activity, so attention turned to ground support.
Coming in from the sea, he had seen columns of smoke around Hickam field. Marine Aviation had was with securing the base so that the Army could start flying cargo and urgent supplies in from the West Coast. He assumed that once Hickam was secure, the Marines would secure the base at Ewa. Following that, the Marine aviators would return home.
Banking towards the east, Smith spotted a flash and a slight puff of smoke.
“Okay, you nasty buggers, I see you now,” he muttered. “I have a pair of 250 pounders with your name on them.”
Lining up on the target, he double-checked to make sure the guns were armed. As he moved into a slight dive and eased the throttle open, he could now clearly see the two field artillery pieces and the crew frantically serving them. He was satisfied to walk the tracer fire across the gun emplacement. He pickled his bombs and pulled up sharply.
When Smith banked the airplane into a circuit around the target, he no longer saw any sign of the emplacement. “I guess I just sent those critters to hell. I hope it’s hot enough for them.”
CHAPTER FIVE
May 14, 1943; 2 PM
