by C T Glatte
The bus arrived and the officers folded up umbrellas and sauntered inside. Harry and Rex sat near the front. The squeak of the worn windshield wipers grated on Rex. The low hum of conversation as people settled rose enough that Harry had to raise his voice. “Come out to the bar with me tonight. We’ll get a beer and a bite to eat.”
Rex smiled, “Won’t I get in the way of your carousing?”
Harry shook his head. “No carousing tonight. Remember meeting that blonde haired gal the other day?” Rex shrugged, he’d met many of Harry’s blonde haired gals. “You know, the last one that came over.” When there was no response he continued. “Anyway. Her name’s Blanche and I kinda like her, so I’m gonna see where it goes.”
Rex grinned, “Probably into bed.”
Harry smiled. “Hopefully, yes but there’s something different about this one.” He slapped Rex’s shoulder, “You in?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll go for one beer.” When Harry protested, Rex finished, “I’m bushed and want to get to bed early.” Harry nodded, happy just to be getting him out for once.
The bus lurched to a stop and Harry and Rex were the first out. They opened their black umbrellas and walked the half block to their apartment complex. When they entered the lobby there was a Navy sailor waiting for them. Upon seeing the two officers he approached and saluted. Rex and Harry returned the salute sheepishly. The young man addressed Rex, “Ensign Crandall?”
Rex nodded and took the piece of paper the sailor held. He read the scrawled writing quickly. “Looks like our evening plans are changed, Harry. At least mine are.”
The Seaman, whose nameplate said, Gallagher indicated the door. “After you, sir. There’s a car waiting.”
Harry waved, “No rest for the wicked, Rex.”
“Guess not.” He followed the sailor out the door and entered the black sedan idling nearby. Gallagher shut the door behind him and entered the front passenger side. The driver was another young Seaman. When Rex was seated, the sedan pulled onto the street and back toward base.
Rex reread the note. It simply stated he was ordered to return to base. The stamped signature was Lieutenant Commander LaVoy’s. He had heard nothing about the Coast Guard report he’d presented two days prior, and wondered if it was about that.
Security around the base had tightened since the air raid in Bellingham. The event seemed to bring the reality of war into a finer focus.
They parked the sedan and Rex followed Gallagher on foot into a part of the base he’d never been before. They entered a nondescript building. He showed his I.D. to two no-nonsense Marines, guarding an entranceway. They looked it over then back at him, making sure the information matched. Finally, they stepped aside and opened the large double doors.
He entered a large room with a long table in the center. Rex immediately braced, he’d never seen so much brass in one place before. There were various conversations happening, it appeared as though a meeting was about to start.
He took a deep breath and strode inside. Despite the surprise, this situation was reminiscent of countless board meetings, except he’d been the brass then.
Lieutenant Commander LaVoy noticed him. He was a fairly junior officer in this crowd. He strode toward him, coming up to Rex’s chest. Rex snapped off his best salute and LaVoy nodded and turned toward the milling group. “Gentlemen.” He called, getting their attention. “This is Ensign Crandall. He made me aware of the report from the Coast Guard.”
The entire cadre of high ranking officers turned as one and looked him up and down. The man at the head of the table wore the four silver stars of a full Admiral. Rex noticed him immediately. His chiseled facial features complimented his athletic build. His full head of thick black hair was speckled with gray. Rex recognized him as Admiral Walter Childreth. His friends called him Wally, but Rex put that out of his mind as the Admiral addressed him. “Ensign Crandall is it?”
Rex cleared his throat, “Yes, sir. At your service, sir.”
“How’s the transition from civilian life?”
Rex looked at Lieutenant Commander LaVoy, who had a sheepish grin on his face. “Fine, sir. Thanks for asking. Happy to do my part, Admiral.”
“Excellent, excellent. I know it’s a huge step down for you, but you’re the kind of fella that’ll rise quickly. Especially with this kind of work.” He held up a piece of paper.
Despite being a veteran of high-powered meetings most of his adult life, he felt himself blush. “Thank you, Admiral.” He took a breath and blew it out slowly.
Admiral Childreth put the paper down and picked up a pointing stick. He slapped the map behind him. It was like a signal, and the rest of the officers took their seats around the table, scooting the wooden chair legs across the tiled floor. Rex wondered where he should sit and noticed an empty chair in the corner. He went to it and sat down. Part of the group but not the conversation. They’ve thrown me a bone, he thought.
The map showed the Washington state coastline from South Bend all the way to Alaska. He centered the pointer on Bellingham. The Admiral’s deep command voice filled the room. “As you all know, the Russians mounted an air attack against our troop reinforcements here a couple days ago. By all accounts these were not bombers but fighters carrying two two-hundred pound bombs on their wings. The official count is fifty-four Army casualties. Thirty-two of which were fatal.” He let that sink in. “It could’ve been much worse.” He moved the pointer from Bellingham out to sea and southward. “Ensign Crandall came across a communique between a fishing captain and a Coast Guard cutter, reporting seeing at least ten aircraft he couldn’t identify. Based on this information, direction of travel, I ordered three of our new submarines to depart from Bangor and search the area for a Russian aircraft carrier.” He looked directly at Rex. “This morning one of our subs found the carrier.”
Rex stared back at him allowing a slight grin. “The sub commander, Captain Willis, signaled the find. Unfortunately, the transmission was cut short.” He let that sink in. “We don’t know what happened, hopefully there was a malfunction or he had to dive quickly, but we haven’t heard from him since.” The silence was deep as each man thought about dying inside a confined space beneath the crushing depth of the ocean. “We have location, speed and direction of the enemy vessel.”
There was a flurry of private conversations. Admiral Childreth let them continue, then raised his hand for their attention and the room went silent. “This brazen attack won’t go unpunished. Indeed, I believe they made a mistake. Perhaps they’ve grown overconfident with their victories in Alaska. Who knows, but the fact remains, the Russian carrier is within striking distance of many of our land-based airfields. I’ve ordered our amphibious floatplane fleet to scramble and find the carrier. Once located, we’ll hit them with torpedo planes, dive bombers and fighters. Questions?” An officer stood and Rex noticed his silver oak leaf. “Yes, Commander Shills.”
“Sir, do we know what other ships are steaming with the carrier? Surely they’re not alone.”
“Unfortunately, Captain Willis didn’t finish his transmission. His exact words, though were ‘carrier group,’ so we can assume the carrier isn’t alone.”
Commander Shills asked another question. “Are we moving our carriers to the area?”
Childreth nodded. “We’re in the process of moving our Pacific fleet further north to protect our coastline, but we’re keeping the Wasp group near Hawaii. We don’t want to leave Hawaii undefended, in fact some think this Alaska attack may be a ruse to pull our forces from Hawaii.”
There was a murmuring amongst the officers, some nodding heads, some shaking. Childreth raised his voice, “That’s the bigger scene. This carrier group off our coast is the more immediate threat. They can easily strike our reinforcements who’re halfway to Alaska via the inside passage.” He moved the pointer north near the coast giving the approximate location of the Army’s 45th Division. Rex leaned forward, realizing he was talking about his son’s outfit. “The transports are
being covered by a constant blanket of fighters. The Russians haven’t tried anything yet, but I’m sure they will soon. I want to hit them before they can mount a coordinated attack.” He paused, “I’m ordering a dawn attack, assuming our Kingfishers are successful in finding the fleet.”
Seven
Second Lieutenant MaryAnn Larkin listened to the buzz in the women’s locker room. She heard Captain Elizabeth Perkins’ voice around the corner. “That attack on Bellingham can’t go unpunished. When they find the commie carrier group they’ll send every plane we’ve got. Mark my words.”
The unmistakable, soft lilting voice of 1st Lt. Amanda Withers answered. “It’s not the first time. You know Alaska’s a part of the U.S., right?”
MaryAnn cringed. Captain Lizzy Perkins could be a hard-ass, but she remembered her and Mandy were friends from before the war. Perkins answered, “Don’t sass me. Course I know, but this is my own backyard.”
Mandy replied, “Nobody messes with you, is that it?”
“You’re damned right, girl. Think of those poor soldiers up there. They must’ve pissed themselves when those bombs dropped. Those 45th Division boys are green as grass.”
MaryAnn felt her breath catch in her throat. She poked her head around the corner. “Did you say the 45th Division?” Both women looked at her. They were opposites, Mandy was short, curvy and blonde, Lizzy tall with dark hair chopped short. MaryAnn hastily added, “Sir.”
Mandy continued dressing, pulling her coverall flight suit up and over her hips. Captain Perkins put her hands on her narrow waist and looked MaryAnn up and down. She finally answered. “You a spy or something?”
MaryAnn blushed and shook her head. “No. Of course not.” She stammered, “it’s just that - well, I know some boys in the 45th. They’re from my hometown, sir.”
Perkins zipped up her flight suit. She wore a man’s suit, the smaller female versions didn’t fit her. “You got a honey in that outfit?”
MaryAnn shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I just know some of them, that’s all.”
Perkins ignored her. Finally, Lt. Withers shook her head. “Why you being such a pill, Lizzy?” Perkins scowled but continued to ignore them. Mandy said, “Yes, it was the 45th Division.” She put her hand on MaryAnn’s shoulder. “There were casualties.” When she saw the worry cross MaryAnn’s face she quickly added, “But not many. I’m sure your friends are fine.”
Lizzy guffawed, “How do you know that? Don’t give her false hope.”
Amanda scowled at her. “There’s a lot of boys in that division. From what I’ve heard casualties were light, so chances are they’re fine.”
Captain Perkins finished dressing. She looked MaryAnn up and down. “Get dressed. Put that stuff out of your mind. We need you sharp today. Understood?” MaryAnn looked embarrassed and nodded. Perkins looked down on her. “Today may be our first combat. This will be the first time in our history a squadron of women will take the fight to those bastards. Get your head together. This is our chance to prove the doubters wrong.”
A group of women formed around her. She looked from one to another and continued her pep talk. “There’s no time for feelings or emotions today. We can have those after the war.” She raised her voice. “Our training scores are better than the men’s, but we’re going to have to prove ourselves in combat or they’ll pull the plug on this whole program and send us back to ferrying planes.” The women stood silent, transfixed by her words. “We’re the fighting 4th. This is bigger than us. This is our day to prove ourselves to the entire world. This is our day to show those commie bastards how deadly a squadron of women strapped into the greatest fighter ever produced, can be.” The pilots grinned. “Let’s show these bastards what we can do.” A cheer went up and when they quieted she barked, “Standby for combat!”
They’d gotten the call an hour earlier to mount their P-51 Mustangs. MaryAnn had meticulously gone through the pre-flight checklist. Her maintenance lead, Sergeant May Callahan informed her ‘The Tigress’ was purring like a kitten, running at an optimal level. Once through the checklist there was little to do but wait. She arranged her map on her kneeboard, making sure she could access it easily, without it falling onto the floor and hindering her use of the rudder pedals.
She thought about the pathway leading to where she sat now, awaiting the call to enter combat. She remembered the day the Russians attacked Alaska. She’d been watching a baseball game, but more particularly watching Jimmy Crandall play baseball.
They’d grown up together as next door neighbors. They’d played endlessly on the quiet streets. They were best friends and inseparable, until she turned eleven. She remembered Jimmy coming to her birthday party with a big wrapped present with a red bow. She had all her friends there, but Jimmy was the only boy. He was also the only friend she truly wanted there.
She remembered him coming to the door as she watched through the side window. She opened the door and they beamed at one another. Then a group of boys walked by on the sidewalk and stopped at the white picket fence. They pointed and laughed at Jimmy, calling him a girl and a dandy-boy. She remembered seeing Jimmy’s lovely blue eyes darken. She remembered him turning to the boys, then back to her. She could see the turmoil.
He muttered, “Happy birthday, MaryAnn. I got you this.” He set the present down at the doorstep then stepped away from it and away from her.
She ignored the present and reached for him. She said, “Come inside, Jimmy.” The girls in the front room were all dressed in brightly colored skirts and were talking and laughing amongst themselves. Jimmy looked past her and gave a slight shake of his head. “What’re you doing? It’s my birthday.” He stepped down the stairs but couldn’t make himself look at her.
He shook his head and turned toward the boys who were holding baseball gloves and wooden bats. When he was halfway to them he turned back to MaryAnn. “Goodbye, MaryAnn. Happy birthday.”
She didn’t remember much else about her eleventh birthday except that it was the day her best friend Jimmy Crandall abandoned her. She only saw him in school and occasionally outside, but they never played or even talked. She’d been hurt, and she was sure he was too, but neither ever acknowledged their pain.
As the years went by, her girlish form changed into a shapely, beautiful woman. She barely noticed it, spending her time studying, reading and hiking with her nature books. She wore pants when she could and didn’t mind if she got dirty while digging for worms and investigating things living under rocks. It separated her from the other girls her age, but she barely noticed that either. She preferred to be alone.
She always kept track of Jimmy, though. She watched him become a man, full of stringy, strong muscles. She would watch him at baseball games, being sure to keep out of his sight. She wondered why she did it and told herself it was because she missed his friendship, but she knew it was more than that.
When the war hit home, she’d watched Jimmy leave with his bag over his back. She watched from her front porch as he gave his weeping mother a kiss and shook his stoic father’s hand. He’d looked her way and her heart skipped a beat when his gaze lingered on her and she thought he might come over and say goodbye, but he’d only waved.
The call up wasn’t only reserved for men and she’d gotten a letter soon after Jimmy, telling her to report for military duty. Most girls wanted to join the medical corps, training as nurses, but MaryAnn asked if there were other options and she was sent to a different, much shorter line.
Before she knew it she was whisked through a series of physical fitness tests which she passed easily and found herself grouped amongst other women from all over the northwest who were tough and independent thinkers. They went through an accelerated basic training program, all the while taking aptitude tests and constantly being pushed physically. She had no idea what she was being tested for, but she had no intention of not seeing it through to the end.
Finally, after three-quarters of the other girls had been drummed out, she was
introduced to her one true love, flying. Each day blended with the next as the women flew two-seat trainers then soloed, then entered the cockpits of countless aircraft and mastered them all.
More women dropped out, as they couldn’t meet the high standards the Army Air Corp required of their female pilots. Once dropped, they were whisked away to infantry or artillery training.
She’d heard the men’s flight program wasn’t nearly as tough as theirs, and she didn’t doubt it. The only reason the government gave them a chance at all was due to the urgency of the situation. They were up against an enemy with possible alien technology, and an entire hemisphere against them. They needed every man and woman capable of fighting, being trained to do so.
Finally, they’d graduated to the P-51 Mustang, the creme’ de la creme’ of the US fighters. Over the past ten years, war production led to more and more advances in all facets of life, none less than military aircraft. The P-51 could operate well at low or high elevations. the Packard - Merlin engine was well-suited to long range flights, and its six, fifty-caliber machine guns would hopefully be able to shoot down anything the enemy had.
She’d been commissioned to 2nd Lieutenant and given her wings the day of her thirtieth flight in the P-51. She’d christened ‘her’ plane, Tigress and had a local artist paint a vicious, snarling tiger with alluringly long eyelashes on the nose. To designate their squadron as female pilots, a thick, pink stripe graced the tail with the words ‘Fighting 4th,’ in black.
There were five other all female squadrons along the west coast, and a total of twelve throughout the United States, but none had seen any combat thus far.
She was brought from her revelry when the radio crackled in her headset. It was the voice of Colonel Mike Culling from the tower. “Attention this is Stark Tower, Colonel Culling. Crank your engines. We have confirmation on the Russian carrier group. Repeat: crank your engines and ready for takeoff in echelon. Course and heading to follow. Over.”
