by Ward Wagher
Norman Lloyd was not stupid. The rebuke was subtle, but also unmistakable.
“Admiral, you must think I’m a louse,” he said. “I apologize for my lapse.”
Fletcher laid his hand on Lloyd’s arm. “Your wife is in Bremerton, isn’t she?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Once we get the ships ported, leave the victualling to your exec. That’s his job after all. Go home to your wife and empty your magazines.”
Lloyd looked shocked. “Sir… of course, Sir.”
Fletcher smiled and patted Lloyd’s arm again. “Good. Now let’s find the dock before some merchie out here in the channel decides to liven up his morning by ramming us.”
“God, Admiral! That’s not even funny.”
Admiral Chester Nimitz waited at the dockside for the flagship arrival. The base commander had provided a 1939 Packard for his use, and the back seat was comfortable. He was able to complete a fair amount of paperwork while he waited. His personal transport, a B-17D was down after one of the engines swallowed a valve. So, he had traveled overnight from San Diego in a well-worn Catalina flying boat. The ride was long, loud and bumpy. But he would have made sure to welcome the task force arrival even if President Truman had not insisted he be here.
Nimitz felt as though he had bet the entire Pacific war on a pair of deuces. This time the long shot had paid off handsomely. The task force had returned without even the paint being scratched. The aircraft had accomplished the mission with the loss of only one crew. And, my, how they had given the Japs a black eye. The problem facing Nimitz now was that the President and the American public were expecting the Navy to go out and do it again. This actually worried him more than what the Japs might do.
Nimitz climbed the long ramp to the deck of the Enterprise to greet Admiral Fletcher. When he reached the deck, he saluted the officer of the deck and then saluted the flag.
“Permission to come aboard, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“Permission granted, Admiral. Ensign Forstmann will take you to the Admiral.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Once on the bridge, Nimitz pitched his voice to carry. “Admiral Fletcher, President Truman sends his greetings to you, the officers and the crews. He congratulates you all for an exceptional job out there.”
Fletcher shook his hand. “Thank you, Admiral. I was blessed with a marvelous crew. And things went very well.”
Nimitz grinned. “I suppose you are wondering what we will want you to do for the encore.”
Fletcher laughed. “Sir, that has worried me all the way back home. I guess we’ll just have to get busy and think something up.”
“You’ll have a week here in Bremerton, Jack. Then you’ll be back at sea. I trust that will give you time to clear off the binnacle list.”
“We’ll make it happen, Admiral.”
“There’s a short reception laid on ashore, Jack. I’ll need you and your skippers there. But the intel weenies are itching to get at you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of, Sir.”
“We’ll just have to make sure you are well lubricated at the reception.”
“I’m anxious to hear the details of the raid itself,” Fletcher commented. “We didn’t hear much out there.”
“It went just about as well as we hoped it would,” Nimitz replied. “We are fairly confident that Tojo ate one of the bombs.”
“No sh… er, no kidding, Sir?” Fletcher said.
“That’s what it looks like. We picked up a broadcast from Tokyo that Tojo had retired for health reasons. Yamamoto is now the new PM.”
Fletcher gave a long, low whistle. “Admiral, I am not sure that is an improvement from our point of view.”
“Probably not. But he was forced to pull a significant part of his navy back to defend the home islands. It seems he has been told in no uncertain terms that this will not happen again.”
Fletcher rolled his tongue around in his cheek for a few moments. “I don’t know, Sir, but according to my arithmetic, this comes out to a win for our side.”
“That would be my assessment.”
“It’s kind of nice having them react to us for a change.”
Nimitz laughed in his quiet way. “Those were the President’s exact words.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
January 14, 1943; 10 AM
Chartwell
Westerham, Kent
United Kingdom
Winston Churchill stood as Desmond Morton walked into his study. Papers were scattered over the worktable and it looked as though the former prime minister had been writing.
“Ah, good morning, Desmond. Please do not tell me you took the night train, again.”
“Very well, Prime Minister, I won’t,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye.
Churchill observed that the other man now walked with a much lighter step, and no longer seemed to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“I must say you are looking chipper, despite spending the night on the train.”
“I really must thank you, Prime Minister, for recommending me to RUSI. I was surprised at how well I immediately fit in. I thought I was being offered a sinecure, but this is so much better.”
“I have a lot of confidence in you, Desmond,” Churchill commented. “I believe someone with your expertise will go far with the institute.”
“They know I have come to see you, Sir. But I do not want to seem to take advantage. By taking the night train, I limit my time away from the office. Plus, we are making arrangements for my first trip to the continent.”
“Considering who you represent, I am surprised the Boche are allowing you in.”
Morton tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. “We were surprised as well. We have not hidden the purpose of the trip. The Germans really seem to be falling over themselves to be friendly and cooperative.”
“That is interesting,” Churchill commented. “I shall look forward to speaking with you after your return. Now, what do we have for today?”
“I have a report on the American raid on Tokyo. Unfortunately, it must return to London with me.”
He pulled a folder from his briefcase and handed it to Churchill. A few laggard pieces of red tape were still attached.
“You could get arrested if you get stopped carrying this,” Churchill exclaimed.
“Six have not pulled my clearance, Sir. RUSI insisted it was necessary for my work with them. I suppose someone might frown on my carrying this around in public, but it is entirely legal.”
“If you do not mind waiting for me, I would like to go through it,” Churchill said.
“That is, after all, why I brought it.”
Churchill nodded absently as he opened the folder and began reading. A half hour later, he carefully jogged the pages and closed the folder. Morton looked at him expectantly.
“That was a remarkable piece of work by the Americans,” Churchill said. “Gutsy, but very much on point. Somebody over there has a keen understanding of the Oriental psyche. The Picador has drawn first blood. The loss of face by the Japanese is dramatic. And particularly since Tojo apparently died in the bombing.”
“The Americans do not know that for sure,” Morton argued.
“They are being careful, Desmond. The only possible explanation for how the Japanese reacted would be if they had lost Tojo.”
“But it is only a token victory, Sir,” Morton protested.
“I would use the word symbolic. Yamamoto understands that this is the first squall of the storm that will descend upon the home islands. Japan remains a dangerous adversary – more so with Yamamoto in the premiership. He isn’t afflicted with the blindness that characterized the rest of the government.”
“Eden is convinced the raid was not significant,” Morton said suddenly.
“What? Of course, it’s significant. Oh, there was not a lot of damage to Tokyo. But the psychological damage was enormous. It blew a major hole in the
ir invincibility, man. If you can rattle the enemy like that, you shake his confidence.”
“Very well, Sir,” Morton said.
Churchill grinned at him. “I can see I have not convinced you either. In time I think you will come around to my position.”
“Of course, Sir.” Morton was slightly annoyed. Churchill was amused with him, and he did not appreciate being patronized by the former prime minister. He reminded himself that Winston was no fool.
Churchill slapped his hands on his knees. “Now, pray tell me about the fleet preparations.”
Morton almost snickered at Churchill’s speech. When he was in office, his directives were known around the place as Churchill’s prayers. His love of the term was legendary.
“Many of the auxiliary vessels have sailed or are sailing as they are made ready. The main part of the reconstituted Far East Fleet will sail for Bombay on or about One February. Admiral Forbes will command.”
“That quickly?”
Morton nodded. “Our navy are motivated. Readiness remains a concern, but it seems they are identifying their shortcomings and are working with a will.”
“I am concerned that we are preparing to move into the Indian Ocean without a coordinating strike by the Americans,” Churchill commented. “There will be some risk attached to our fleet movements.”
“The Yanks are moving the last of the new-build carriers to the West Coast. They claim to have not completed working them up,” Morton sounded disgusted.
“That is a valid argument, Desmond. They got the ships out of yards in record time. I would be shocked if they did not have a lot of problems getting the equipment and crewed worked up. I think Forbes will be cautious. After the pasting his task force received in the Norwegian campaign, he seemed a bit meek.”
“He spends a lot of time on the golf course,” Morton said. “Do you believe he gives enough attention to duty? There have been some murmurings about it.”
Churchill seemed to ponder the question. He looked at Morton. “What do you think, Desmond?”
“Sir, I am not qualified to give an opinion.”
Churchill waited several moments before speaking. Morton grew uncomfortable.
“I do appreciate you taking the time to bring me up to date,” Churchill said. “This involved some considerable sacrifice on your part. Might I suggest, in your best interests of course, that you practice caution in your evaluation of others? This might especially be true when you do not have certain knowledge.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. Of course. I stand corrected.”
Churchill smiled kindly. “And you have a train to catch. Give my regards to your wife.”
“Of course, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Churchill watched as the other man left the house. He shook his head and returned to his writing. In politics as well as other ventures, one sometimes had to depend on imperfect tools. Desmond Morton could not be faulted for his loyalty, but Churchill worried about his judgment.
§ § §
January 15, 1943; 8 PM
Ristorante Italiano
Berlin, Germany
“I haven’t been to this place before” Misty Simpson commented as she looked around the restaurant.
“My copilot actually found it,” Lane Johnson said. “He has a knack for discovering interesting places to eat.”
“According to the menu, the food looks authentic.”
“There was an Italian restaurant in Seattle that I was fond of, but the authenticity was questionable. My copilot said that most Italian restaurants he was familiar with were so designated because the owners were Italian.”
She giggled at that. “I think you have that so right. We have a lot of Italian eateries in the city, and we tend to label the ones that have real Italian food.”
“The city being New York?” he asked.
“Right. Sorry. When I’m talking to an American, I tend to slip back into my slang. I grew up in New York City.”
“I’ve never been there,” Lane said. “Flew over it when we were coming over here. Probably the New Yorkers would classify me as a rube from out in the sticks.”
“Ha!” she barked a laugh. “Daddy grew up in Indianapolis. We visited there enough when I was growing up that I kind of take a different view from my friends in the city. To them, the city is everything significant. They tend to look down on the little people.”
“Kind of snooty, then.”
“Do you have any blind spots, Lane?” she immediately reposted.
He pointed his index finger at his chest. “Me? I’m a salt of the earth kind of guy.”
“Uh huh, uh huh. I think your halo is a little crooked.”
He affected a look of mock-horror. “Does it show? Oh, dear me. How can I ever make it up to you?”
“Stop now,” she said with a laugh. “That’s what I like about Midwesterners. They don’t take themselves too seriously.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s a lot of us without a sense of humor. Generally, not in my family, however.”
“Tell me about your family.”
“Not much to tell. My parents own 160 acres in western Illinois. Nearest town of any size is Galesburg.”
“Is that near Peoria?”
“About forty miles in the other direction.”
“What’s it like growing up on a farm?” she asked.
“I guess you’ve seen a lot of it, in your visits to Indianapolis. You work a lot. We’re up well before sunrise to milk the cows and feed the livestock. Depending on the season, you may be in the fields pulling weeds, or picking corn. Things slow down a bit in the winter.”
“It sounds like drudgery,” she said.
“It has its ups and downs. I noticed you work a lot. Is that drudgery?”
“Some of it surely is,” she replied. “But, overall, I love what I’m doing.”
“I understand. To me, a farm is like a big machine. You have to constantly tinker with it to make things go better. My pa just loved the land. I loved the machinery. He probably thinks I’m a little bit crazy. I mean, I saved my money and started taking flying lessons when I was sixteen. He didn’t stop me, but he wondered what I was doing.”
“Are you going back to the farm? I mean after the war?”
He shrugged. “Probably. I like it. I’ll need to figure out a way to afford to keep flying, though. It’s kind of an expensive hobby. What about you?”
“Oh, I’m already in my career.”
She thought about how to phrase it. She had joined the OSS right out of college. The State Department was her cover.
“I love working for the government.”
He nodded and then looked up as their entrees arrived. He had ordered the polo caprese; she had the Lasagna Bolognese.
“Ah, this looks very good.”
She smiled in agreement. “It smells good.”
The conversation trailed off as they began working on the food. And it was excellent.
“I think I’m going to have to come back to this place,” Lane said. “This is really very good.”
“I’m forced to agree,” Misty replied. “And how goes the plans for the transfer of the aircraft?”
He raised an eyebrow at the change of subject but reminded himself that this was the reason for their dinner.
“Goering is pushing us to accelerate the process,” he said. “The first twenty-five flight crews shipped out last week from La Havre. They will be training at the Savannah Army Air Base in Georgia. The planes have started arriving. Boeing has sent crews to install the ferry tanks.”
“Are they still have to route through the Azores?” she asked.
“Yes. The Brits don’t want them staging through the UK. I guess I don’t blame them. The Portuguese have been helpful.”
“Would Norway have been closer?”
“Yes, but it would have required an overflight of Canada. Plus, they would have to refuel in Greenland and Iceland. The people there weren’t comfortable with that.”
&nbs
p; “I’m surprised Secretary Hull did not remind them of who their friends are.”
Lane grinned. “I’m sure there was some of that, from what I heard. Colonel Carlsen was some kind of miffed. I guess the Commonwealth is still not happy about how we forced an end to the war.”
“I really should have known better,” Misty said. “I’ve kind of been focused on Germany and haven’t looked much at the wider world.”
“I think you have a lot on your plate here. Do you have any ideas on why the rush, all of a sudden?”
She thought carefully about whether the U.S. Army had need to know and decided they did.
“The German government is very concerned that Stalin might attack. So, there is a lot of urgency in Berlin right now.”
“I hadn’t heard that. Are they talking about an invasion next week or something?”
“No one really knows,” Misty replied. “I’m not even sure Stalin knows. There are a lot of things going on in Moscow that have everybody’s antennae twitching. The German government told me about it, expecting me to pass this along to Washington, which I did.”
“Is Stalin anybody to worry about?” Lane asked.
“Well, we didn’t worry too much about the Japs until December twelfth last year.”
“Point taken. That’s kind of scary.”
“The Germans don’t seem to scare easily,” she commented, “but this has them very concerned.”
“I would be concerned, too. Do you have a problem with my telling Colonel Carlsen?”
“I made an executive decision to tell you. I assumed you would tell him.”
He nodded. “I suppose we ought to enjoy this excellent meal while we have the chance.”
She nodded in agreement. And, she wondered what she would do if the Russians marched into Berlin.
CHAPTER TWENTY
January 18, 1943; 3 PM
Buckingham Palace
London, England
United Kingdom
The remains of the tea and scones lay on the small side table next to where Clement Attlee sat. The queen had recognized the man liked the small rituals and was more comfortable meeting with her if she paid attention to things like that. A cold, smoky fog enveloped the city and the dripping trees and gutters contributed to a mournful mood. The cheery little coal fire in the hearth of the queen’s office dispelled some of the chill, and the hot tea took care of the rest.
