Divided We Stand (The Fighting Tomcats Book 2)

by M. L. Maki

  “Book killed Chief White with a knife because…because Chief interrupted Book while he was trying to rape me.”

  Rick’s jaw tightens, but he does not interrupt.

  “They called away the attack, so I scrambled up to my plane and flew the mission. If it wasn’t for Puck, I would have died up there.”

  He fishes out a handkerchief and hands it to her.

  “Book beat up the doc and the master at arms and flew the mission. If it wasn’t for Puck, I would have died up there. He tried, but the Japanese got him. When I landed, I was a mess.”

  He puts his hands on her shoulders, then pulls her into his arms. “You’re amazing, Samantha. No one could have done what you did. No one.”

  “I had to, Rick. I couldn’t let the guys down.”

  THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW, USSR

  General Kryukov looks over the men sitting around the table. Marshall Vasilevsky, General of the Army Timoshenko, General of the Army Zhukov, and General of the Army Konev all wait for him to speak. These are men he studied under, even served under. “Men, Stalin is dead. I killed him myself. I and my men have come back from your future to rescue the motherland from the Germans and the Americans.

  “I will share details later. Right now, I wish to make my orders clear. Each of you will retain command of your units. I will assign an aid to serve as an advisor. These officers know clearly what I want, so I would suggest listening to them. We must crush the Germans, of course, but we must do so as a dagger to the heart and not a hammer to the head. We have been too clumsy and wasteful.

  “This was Stalin’s fault and not a fault of yours. I know you are loyal to our motherland. You must also be loyal to me. I’m not a tyrant. I am a professional military leader. A professional soldier will listen to his subordinates, and I will listen to you, but any disloyalty will be disciplined.

  “Now, I am moving up the 5th Guards tank division to the Moscow front. This is my finest armored division. They will push back the Germans. The Germans have nothing that can harm my tanks and my tanks can destroy Germans at over a mile. Already my helicopters are destroying and disrupting the Germans. I am building more tanks at Nizhny Tagil as fast as I can. In time all of your units will also have these fine tanks. For now, this is what I want…”

  ROYAL AIR FORCE BASE, ALCONBURY, HUNTINGDON, ENGLAND

  Brigadier General Walter Altman walks out onto the airfield with a British officer, Air Commodore Howe. He had to admit the British were working fast. The SW to NE runway was being reinforced with thick concrete and stretched to 7500 feet and the east west runway was also being lengthened to 6000 feet and reinforced. There were already Wellingtons on the base, but with jets defending Germany, bombing was near suicidal. “These new planes are heavy. Makes you wonder how they fly off ships.”

  Howe replies, “I was briefed in on how all that came to pass. Yes, extraordinary. It seems the whole vessel is designed to make it so. If they can perform as well as the Jerry scourge, though, I’m all for it. Do you know when they will arrive?”

  “Not for some time, I’m afraid. Right now, they’re in Sydney for repairs. It seems they tweaked the dragon’s tail. Left Tokyo burning.” Then the air raid siren sounds. Looking around, he says, “We need to take cover.”

  Howe says, “If you wish,” and the two men walk off the runway. As they do, two aircraft overfly the field. They hear nothing until the planes are on top of them, then a rush of noise, and bombs dropping. Altman dives to the pavement, but Howe stays standing. The entire attack lasts only seconds.

  Howe helps Altman to his feet, “There is no sense in ducking. It doesn’t do any good and the lads don’t like it. Now, let’s see the damage.”

  “Yes, well. Thank you. The German jets are so fast.”

  “Welcome to the war, General.” He shakes his head, surveying the damage, “Yes, well, our boys will clean this up in a jiffy.”

  FORECASTLE, USS FIFE, WOOLWICH DRY DOCK, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

  1300, 11 FEBRUARY, 1942

  CDR Brewster Flanagan walks up, salutes, and hands CDR Wakefield and envelope. “She’s coming together, ma’am.”

  She looks back over her ship. Her ship. It takes some getting used to. “Do you know what the delay is on lifting the 01 level, Commander?”

  “A snag with the rigging gear. They’re sorting it out.”

  She opens the envelope, “Damn it. Oh, Jesus Christ. Don’t I have enough to do?”

  “May I inquire?”

  “Yes, Commander. Do you happen to have a dress uniform?”

  “No, but I could scare one up. I lost all my gear when the Salt Lake City went down. What’s happening?”

  “It seems we are invited to the Governor’s Ball. All commanders and XOs.”

  Brewster smiles, “It’s the way of the Navy, ma’am. Just when you are convinced you are overloaded, they show you just how much more you can bear. Truth, ma’am, you could use a break.”

  “I know, but the whole group is waiting on me. The war won’t stop for a dance.” Looking toward the pier, “I see they’ve started the lift. Good.”

  CHAPTER 13

  EASTERN WASHINGTON STATE, 5 MILES NORTH OF RICHLAND

  1305, 11 February, 1942

  Captain Scott Richardson walks into his office. As the door closes, it mutes the sounds of construction outside. “My God, it’s happening.”

  His secretary looks up, “Sir?”

  “It’s okay, Lauri. Less than two months ago, I was at sea. So much has changed.”

  “Would you like some tea, sir?”

  “That would be nice, thank you.” He sits in his old-fashioned padded leather swivel chair and stares at the wall.

  Lauri brings him his tea and a stack of letters. “These just came in. I’m sorry the mail delivery is so slow here. Richland is the back of beyond.”

  He shuffles through the letters, “It won’t be for long, Lauri. This little river bank is about to be the most important site in the war effort.” He pulls a letter from the stack, smiling. It’s from LCDR Hunt. God, it seems like a lifetime.

  Dear Scott,

  Just a quick note to stay in touch. I addressed this to the Navy Department because I have no idea where you are. Please send your address. I’ve no doubt, though, that you are insanely busy. As one of my instructors once told me, ‘don’t forget to breath’. I can’t discuss battles and such, sorry. I can assure you that Thud and I are okay. I miss the brain trust. It was such an amazing group of people. I hope you are well.

  Samantha

  Scott smiles and can’t stop. He grabs a pen and paper.

  “Sir, do you wish me to write a response?

  Startled that she’s still there, “No, um, this is a private letter. Thank you.”

  GOVERNOR’S MANSION, SYDNEY

  1830,13 FEBRUARY, 1942

  Samantha and Stephan get out of the bus with rest of the squadron leaders from Airwing 9. She looks up at the castellated towers, “My God, it’s a castle. Why?”

  CDR Miller says, “It’s just the style. Remember guys, this is high society. Don’t get drunk. Only the most senior people are allowed to get drunk in a place like this.”

  Stephan says, “I’ll stay sober, boss. I’m too heavy for you to carry home.”

  Sam smiles, “I would manage. I’m sure there’s a wheel barrow around somewhere.” They follow the sound of music to the entrance. Holtz and his chief of staff go first, and Sam and Swede are the last ones. The door man says to Swede, “Sir, this event is for commanders and executive officers. You were not supposed to bring a date.”

  Sam says, “Hello, sir. I’m the commanding officer of the VF-154, the Black Knights. This is my executive officer, Lt. Swedenborg.”

  The doorman looks nonplussed, then “Of course,” and lets them in.

  THE SEAMAN’S SHANTY, VICTORIA ST. WOOLLOOMOOLOO

  1835, 13 FEBRUARY, 1942

  Newburg and the guys, hearing piano music, walk into The Seaman’s Shanty. “Wow, Ham, this place i
s cool. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Sure, Duck. Just don’t pick a fight with someone bigger than you.”

  Greg laughs, “That covers about everybody.”

  ADC Gellar says, “Find us a place to sit, guys, and I’ll order the first round.” AD1 McCrimmon, Duck, Ham, AD2 Cervella, AD3 Gnosis, and AD3 Lori Givens walk further in and find an empty table. As they sit, a guy at a nearby table hollers, “My God, the Yanks have invaded.”

  Ham gives him a head nod and says, “G’day.”

  The men at the table chuckle and the sailors settle in. Then Bobby shows up with a tray of beers. “This will quench our thirst. They’ve food here, so I ordered us all meat pasties.”

  Cervella says, “Wow, Bobby, thank you. I got the next round then.”

  Ham asks, “Your AD2 pay raise burning a hole in your pocket?”

  Joe replies, “I guess it is. That okay?”

  “Fine with me, but I get the next round after. Chief, how did you hear about this place. It’s nice.”

  “One of the yard workers. I asked for a safe and quiet place where a guy could get a beer and a bite.”

  A guy at the other table moves his chair back, stands, spins it around, and sits astraddle, “You yanks off the big ship on King’s wharf?”

  Ham says, “Yep, that’s us.”

  “Well then, welcome to Australia, mates. Me and me mates are working on the new dry dock. That is one bloody big ship. What is it?”

  Bobby says, “She’s the USS Carl Vinson, an aircraft carrier. We’re from one of the fighter squadrons on board.”

  “You the ones gave Tojo a hard time a few weeks ago?”

  “Yeah, that’s us.”

  “Well then, mates, let me buy you a round. I’m Diggory Plummer and these blokes are Ty, Travis, and Jesse.”

  GOVERNOR’S MANSION, SYDNEY

  1850, 13 FEBRUARY, 1942

  There are a lot of people in the ballroom, nearly all in uniform. It’s summer in Australia, so white uniforms prevail. The choker whites of the Americans and Australians, and a sprinkling of blue RAAF and khaki Australian Army uniforms, too. In a corner, Admirals Nimitz, Halsey, and Lee are talking with a group of Australian flag officers and an older gentleman in a tuxedo with a red sash. Captain Holtz joins the conversation.

  Sam spots another woman in uniform and walks up to her, holding out her hand, “Samantha Hunt, VF-154. Hi.”

  CDR Wakefield looks at her, surprised, and takes Sam’s hand, “Laura Wakefield, Fife. How are you, Commander?”

  “I’m doing okay. You command one of the small ships?”

  “Yes, Fife is a destroyer. Spruance class.”

  “The one that lost its bridge.”

  “I know who you are. You shot down all those planes.”

  “Yes.”

  They are interrupted by an Australian couple, a man in the dark blue Royal Australian Air Force mess uniform with three gold stripes on his sleeves. With him is a beautiful woman in an elegant blue lace evening dress. “Good evening, ladies. Allow me to introduce my wife, Abigail Holmes. I’m Group Captain Howard Holmes.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Captain Holmes, Mrs. Holmes. I’m Lt. Commander Hunt, and this is Commander Wakefield, commanding officer of the Fife.”

  “A pleasure. You, madam, command a destroyer?”

  Laura smiles, “Yes. You seem surprised.”

  Abigail Holmes says, “I think it’s delightful. And what to you do, Lieutenant. Commander Hunt?”

  Laura says, “She’s the squadron commander of the Black Knights. Commander, what was the number?”

  “It’s VF-154, a F-14 fighter squadron.”

  Homes says, “A fighter squadron, have you any kills?”

  Sam looks away, uncomfortable. Laura says, “She has 35 Japanese kills. I was just asking her about them.”

  “My God, 35 kills. That’s amazing. Startling. How do you Yanks count kills?”

  With a tight smile, Sam says, “We only count combatant aircraft downed in flight. Most of those were Zeros and they are easy pickings for us. What do you fly, Commander?”

  “I command Number 6 squadron flying the Avro Anson right now. She’s a fine twin engine medium bomber. Steady and reliable, as a lady should be. I’ve just recently returned from Britain. There I flew the Lancaster for the 460th. What kind of fighter can dispatch a Zero as if it is nothing?”

  “I fly the F-14 Tomcat, a multi-engine jet fighter. The Zero is a good plane and the pilots are excellent. It’s just outclassed by modern technology.”

  Abigail says, “Darling, let’s get some drinks for our new friends.”

  “Yes, of course,” and motions for one of the waiters. “Is it a Grumman product? If I may be direct, when did the Yanks start letting ladies fly?”

  Sam says, “Yes, it is.” A waiter brings a tray of champagne flutes. “It has only been the last year or so. Well, it’s confusing.”

  Abigail says, “Dear, could we have her and a few of her pilots out to the house for dinner? You could pick her brain about this new plane then.”

  “Of course. Do you know how long you have in port?”

  “At least a week.”

  “Well, then, perhaps we could have you and three or four others out for an informal dinner. Whomever you wish. If there are other lady pilots, certainly invite them.”

  “There is one other in my squadron, and I will, perhaps two of us, and our wingmen. That would be four. Would that be too many?”

  Abigail says, “No, that would be wonderful,” and hands Sam a card, “our address. Four pm on Friday.”

  They are interrupted by the tall man in tuxedo and sash walking up with Nimitz, Halsey, and Holtz, “I must meet this supposed female aviator. Hello, I am Governor John Loder, Lord Wakehurst. Welcome to my home. You, madam, would you be this female aviator?”

  Sam says, “I am sir. It’s a pleasure.”

  “This is rubbish.” Turning to Admiral Nimitz, “Is this your idea of a joke, Admiral?”

  Nimitz says, “No, milord, this Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hunt, commanding officer of the Black Knight squadron. She has 35 Japanese kills.”

  THE SEAMAN’S SHANTY, WOOLLOOMOOLOO

  1925, 13 FEBRUARY, 1942

  The Aussies and the American sailors are laughing when MM1 Hammond returns with a round of beers. Duck looks up, grinning, “Ham, tell them about turning the captain red.”

  “You tell it, Duck. It was you on the bypass.”

  “I know, Ham, but you tell it better.”

  One of the Aussies, Tie, says, “So, you pissed off the old man?”

  Ham drinks his beer, “Well, we did that, but because we turned him red, not the other way around. This happened last summer after we got out of a yard period. You see, our skipper on the Stoddert, Commander Douglas, did his engineer tour on our boat. I was a second class then and he was an alright engineer and a damn fine captain, but he was always bragging that he knew the plant better than we did.”

  Diggory asks, “Was he a captain or a commander?”

  “He was a commander, but the guy in charge of a ship is always called captain. It’s just a thing. Anyway, we’re coming out of the yards, and as always seems to happen, more things were broke than before we went in. So, the control pilot on the auxiliary exhaust augmenter valve was broke. It’s the valve that maintains pressure on the DFT.”

  Again, Diggory asks, “What’s a DFT, mate?”

  “De-aerating Feed Tank, or what we call De Fucking Tank. It’s where the condensate is stripped of air and stored before the feed system pumps it into the boiler. Anyway, the pressure on the de fucking tank is controlled by this broke valve. So, we had Duck up there operating the bypass valve while watching a gauge.

  “We reported the problem up the chain and the parts were coming, but the captain still wanted to get underway. So, he does this huge ship-wide, dress white inspection first, and then, before he changes back into his working uniform, he decides to inspect his new gig.”

&
nbsp; Duck says, “A gig is what you call a captain’s boat.”

  Ham smiles, “Yep, and the problem was the aux exhaust relief valve outlet is above the captain’s gig. So, poor Duck is fighting to control the pressure as we are lighting off some auxiliary equipment, and Duck doesn’t shut down on the valve fast enough. No shame, controlling on the bypass is a bitch, but the captain was standing on the deck of his gig in his dress white uniform as a cascade of rusty water rains down on him.”

  “No!” says Diggory, as they all laugh and Ham takes a drink. “So, pissed off, he steams down into the engine room and I’m the first victim he sees. His face is matching his uniform, ‘Why the hell did I just get my uniform ruined?’ And I answered, ‘Sir, you know the plant better than we do. We reported the aux exhaust regulating valve was broken and you should know where the relief lifts.’”

  Laughing, Chief Gellar says, “Oh my God! What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘You’re right, MM1. It was my fault, carry on.’ And he left.”

  Duck says, “I thought I was dead.”

  Ham laughs, “We put together some money to pay for cleaning his uniform, but Douglas refused to accept it. We saved it for a party when we got back.”

  Tie asks, “So, the captain was caught red-handed.”

  Duck says, “Yup.”

  Diggory asks, “He isn’t still red, is he?”

  Ham looks down, “Guys, we lost him. Captain Douglas went down with the Stoddert.”

  Diggory Plummer says, “Well mate, let me buy another round so we can properly toast a brave red sea captain.”

  GOVERNOR’S MANSION, SYDNEY

  1930, 13 FEBRUARY, 1942

  Governor Loder says, “Preposterous. No woman could outfly a man. I hope you are not thinking of sending us this female to defend Australia. I won’t have it. Not for a minute.”

  Sam stands at attention, her face tight, as Nimitz says, “Milord, if I had a thought of sending you my successful squadron, it would be Commander Hunt’s. As is it, I will be releasing the Blue Diamonds, commanded by Earl Carpenter. Their fighters are also optimized for air to ground.”