by C T Glatte
LaVoy looked at his notes. “Surprisingly well, Sir.” Childreth scowled at him and LaVoy stuttered, “What I mean, sir is they have the best pictures of all the other squadrons because they engaged the most enemy fighters at the closest range. Nearly all these photos were taken from their gun cameras.”
Childreth looked down his patrician nose. “How many confirmed kills?”
“Six, Sir. With three more probables.”
“Casualties?”
LaVoy flipped to another sheet until he found what he was looking for. “They lost two, Sir. Much lower than the other squadrons.”
“Still unacceptable losses. Carry on Commander.”
“Yes, sir.” He handed a copied black and white photo around. When everyone had one in hand, he continued. “This is the best picture of the Russian fighter. As you can see, its lines are a bit different from ours. Our engineers are poring over the photos and the first-hand accounts from the pilots. It’s preliminary and we expect a full report within the week. The bottom-line though, it’s faster and more powerful than anything we have.”
Childreth scowled, “The fourth managed to shoot a few down.”
LaVoy nodded, “They scored those kills when they had the early advantage, diving down on them while they were tangling with other units. When it was one on one, most lost. The enemy would simply out-climb us, if they got into trouble.” He shrugged, “They’re faster and can out-climb even the P-51.”
Childreth studied the pictures, then said, “Let me know what our engineers come up with. Perhaps we’ll shoot one of these bastards down over land and be able to pick apart their engine.”
LaVoy nodded, “Yes, sir. I’ll keep you up to date.”
Childreth looked to Commander Clemson Shills. “Clem, did we do any damage to their carrier group?”
Commander Shills stood and adjusted his white uniform. He scooted back from the table, keeping his ample belly from scraping the edge. He nodded, “Yes sir, although not as much as we’d hoped.” He passed around photos taken from the air above the carrier group. “This was taken by one of our Kingfisher’s the day before the attack, and the second photo is after the action.”
They studied the pictures. The second showed multiple smoke trails streaming off the backs of a few ships. Childreth noted, “Doesn’t look like we damaged the primary target… their carrier.”
“That’s true, sir. Their fighters decimated our torpedo planes. They were torn up badly.” He read off another sheet of paper. “Planes from the 8th bomber group took nearly seventy percent casualties.” A silence settled over the group. “They managed to get a few torpedos in the water, but that damned ship is fast. She was able to outmaneuver them easily.”
“Well, is there any good news? Did we sink or damage any of them?”
Commander Shills nodded, “Yes, Sir. Our dive-bombers managed to get some 500 pounders into a few of their cruisers and destroyers.” He passed pictures showing heavily smoking ships listing and on fire. “We haven’t been able to identify the specific ships, it seems the insignia is Korth symbols instead of named ships. We’ve been studying the insignia and have our best mathematicians and theorists working, but so far it seems like gibberish.”
Childreth went through the pictures and stopped on the last one. It was taken from a different angle. Instead of straight down, the picture was from the back and very close. He held it up to Commander shills. “Who’s aircraft is this?”
Shills looked at his copy and shook his head. “I don’t know the pilot’s name, sir, but it was a member of the 4th Squadron. She got separated from the rest of her unit.”
Childreth gave a soft whistle and looked closer. “You can see her bullets shredding the deck. I’d like to know this pilot’s name.”
Commander Shills scowled and nodded. He looked across the table to Lieutenant Commander LaVoy. “Get that information for me, Joe.”
LaVoy nodded, “I’ll find out and be sure she’s reprimanded for her flagrant disregard for her aircraft.”
Admiral Childreth shook his head. “I’m not going to reprimand her, son. I’m want to give her a medal. We need courage and commitment like that. She’s got balls of steel for Chrissakes.”
The men chuckled and LaVoy’s face turned dark red. He muttered, “Yes, sir. I’ll get her name.” LaVoy raised his voice to Ensign Crandall, “Get me her name Ensign.”
“Yes, sir. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
When he didn’t move, LaVoy said, “Now, Ensign.”
Rex looked at him with a flash of anger but got to his feet. He snapped off a salute and turned on his heel to leave. Admiral Childreth intervened, “At ease, Ensign.” Rex turned to Childreth. “Are you responsible for putting these pictures together?”
Rex looked to LaVoy who was shooting daggers from his eyes. He ignored him, “Yes, sir. Myself and some other intelligence officers.”
Childreth nodded. “Good job, they’re high quality.”
“Yes sir. Our darkroom technicians are outstanding, sir.”
Childreth addressed LaVoy, “Good work putting this team together, Joe. Impressive.”
LaVoy’s face changed from dark to light in an instant and he managed to utter, “Thank you, sir.”
LaVoy and Rex took their seats and Childreth addressed the entire group. “We sank two vessels then, is that right?”
Commander Shills nodded, “Yes, sir. That’s confirmed and damaged two other battleships. The cruiser the P-51 pilot strafed hasn’t been seen by our spotters and is presumed sunk. It’s also estimated we shot down nine of their fighters.” He looked at his notes, “But we lost twenty-five of our own. Fifteen of the torpedo planes, four P-51s and the rest were dive-bombers.” the room was silent.
Childreth shook his head. “We can’t have that kind of a lopsided battle and expect to win.” He stood and went to the wall map directly behind him. He moved his pointer to a red ‘X’ and stopped. “This is where we fought them and this is where they are now.” He moved the pointer. “They’re headed directly toward Alaska. We think they’re moving in to cut off any more supplies and troops. If they’re successful, they’ll essentially blockade any reinforcements we send and our units will wither on the vine. It’s essential we keep hitting this task force, hard. It will be costly, but our pilots will get better and we’ll find ways to even the score.” He looked around the room. “We don’t have much military shipping in this area, a couple old Cruisers which are being refitted with modern weapons as we speak, but they’ll likely be a mere nuisance. Our submarines from Bangor are steaming toward the group. We lost contact with Captain Willis’ sub soon after he relayed the whereabouts of the carrier group. He’s presumed sunk.”
Rex Crandall looked around the somber faces. He could tell that some of the men knew Captain Willis personally. He was obviously a well-liked officer, even though he was a member of the somewhat aloof and mysterious submariner ranks.
The admiral continued. “Our next attack will be coordinated with the subs. Our predator class subs are cruising out of sonar range, waiting for our next air attack.” He looked at his watch, “Which will begin at first light, tomorrow morning.”
Second Lieutenant MaryAnn Larkin had been on the ground for six hours. She lay on her cot with her hands behind her head staring through tears at the ceiling fan slowly spinning. She wiped her eyes and looked around at the other pilots. The cot beside her was empty. Second Lieutenant Blaine, the person MaryAnn was supposed to protect, hadn’t returned from the fight. Captain Perkins confirmed seeing her P-51 spiraling toward the sea engulfed in fire and smoke.
MaryAnn tried to visualize Cindy’s face. It had only been hours but she was having trouble. Every time she closed her eyes Cindy’s face turned from rosy cheeks and a happy smile to melting skin and charred bone. MaryAnn felt like she’d been in a brawl. Every muscle in her body ached. The one thing she needed was sleep, but her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the nightmare. She’d finally given up trying.
Whe
n she’d first landed at Stirling Airbase, she’d hopped from her cockpit, happy to have survived her first scrape with the enemy. Sergeant Callahan and the flight mechanics had immediately swarmed over Tigress, pulling the gun camera footage and refueling and rearming her.
MaryAnn saw the fist sized hole in her tail but couldn’t remember when it had happened. Sergeant Callahan figured it was from an anti-air weapon. The sergeant assured her it was an easy patch and would be good as new in no time.
She’d been whisked away to the debriefing room where she was met with raucous cheers, but the merriment didn’t last when she was informed of Lt. Blaine’s fate. Captain Perkins assured her it wasn’t her fault, sticking to a wingman’s tail during such an intense and close action was nearly impossible, but MaryAnn knew it was her fault. She barely remembered the debrief. All she could think about was her failure to keep her wingman alive.
She sat up on the side of her cot and wiped her eyes. Her head pounded and she rubbed her temples trying to ease the throb, but it was no use. She could smell her own stink seeping from beneath her flight suit.
First Lieutenant Mandy Withers noticed her. “You need to get over it, Lieutenant. She’s gone and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”
MaryAnn opened her eyes and looked through a teary haze at the Lt. Withers. She nodded slightly and muttered, “Yes, sir.”
Lieutenant Withers lifted herself off her cot and shuffled past a lightly snoring pilot, careful not to bump her. She stood beside MaryAnn, who moved over. Mandy sat beside her. In her lilting voice she said, “This is only the beginning of this damned war. We need everyone on point to win. I know losing Blaine’s tough, we all feel responsible. We lost Cotina too, and we’ll lose more before this is over.” She put her hand on MaryAnn’s knee. “We have to put it behind us if we hope to survive. You have to rest so you can go up and kick the hell out of those cock-sucking commies.”
MaryAnn jolted with the sudden cursing. The sweet lilting voice spouting filth brought a smile to her chapped lips. She nodded and put her hand on Mandy’s. She wiped her eyes, “Yes, I know. I’ll do my best, I promise.”
The barrack doors swung open and a male officer stepped through. Lieutenant Withers squinted trying to see him better. “What’s a Navy Squid doing here?” She asked. She leaned forward to get a better look. “He’s kinda cute.”
MaryAnn looked at the officer who was speaking with the female guard sitting at the metal desk. The guard nodded and pointed her way. MaryAnn thought she recognized the sailor but couldn’t place him. The officer noticed her and strode with purpose past snoozing pilots. When he got close enough to notice Lieutenant Withers, he braced and saluted.
Withers stayed seated and saluted back, noticing his wedding ring. “Can I help you, Ensign?”
The officer pointed at MaryAnn, “I’m Ensign Crandall, I’ve been sent by Admiral Childreth to speak with Second Lieutenant Larkin about her performance this morning.”
Withers looked at MaryAnn like she’d suddenly sprouted wings from her back. “Admiral Childreth? What’s the meaning of this?”
MaryAnn stared and slowly stood. Her headache subsided as she recognized the ensign. “Mr. Crandall? I - I haven’t seen you in ages.” The color suddenly drained from her face, “did - did something happen to Jimmy?”
His smile went to a scowl. He shook his head, “No, no. As far as I know he’s fine, although his unit’s in Anchorage…” He looked at her sideways. “I’m not here to talk about Jimmy.” He looked to the confused Lt. Withers. “Sorry ma’am. MaryAnn’s my neighbor. From before the war.” He looked closer at MaryAnn. “Were you two dating? I didn’t know a thing about…”
MaryAnn interrupted him. “No, nothing like that. I just saw you and thought maybe something happened.” She shook her head, “It’s silly. Why would you come all the way out here to tell me that? He’s just a…” she hesitated, “just a friend.”
Mandy tore her eyes from the handsome ensign and grinned at MaryAnn’s obvious discomfort. “What are you here for, Ensign Crandall?”
“Admiral Childreth wants to give you a medal for your courage this morning.”
MaryAnn looked stunned. “Courage? What are you talking about? I got my wingman killed, there’s nothing courageous about that.”
Mandy squeezed MaryAnn’s neck. “Now, now stop it. Let the man finish.”
Rex Crandall lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry to hear of your loss, MaryAnn.” He hesitated then continued, “I’m talking about your attack on the Russian cruiser. You likely sank it and the Admiral wanted to pin a medal on your uniform for your bravery.”
Mandy leaned back and looked MaryAnn up and down. “What’s he talking about? You said you strafed a ship in the debrief, but you didn’t say you sank it.”
MaryAnn shook her head, feeling the headache returning. “I, I did strafe it, but I didn’t see it go down.” She shook her head, “It was already damaged. It was on fire and probably going down anyway.”
Rex shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. Your gun cameras recorded the whole thing. The Admiral wanted to congratulate you personally.”
MaryAnn looked at Lt. Withers then back to Ensign Crandall. “When?”
“You’re to come with me now. He wants to meet you. There’s paperwork involved and a lot of red-tape, so you won’t see the actual medal for quite some time.”
MaryAnn shook her head, tossing her short hair over her eyes. “No. No way I’m leaving now. We could be scrambled at any moment. There’s no way I’m leaving my squadron. They need every pilot.”
Ensign Crandall exchanged a glance with Lt. Withers. Mandy nodded. “It’s okay, MaryAnn. You deserve it. The squadron will be here when you return.”
MaryAnn was about to continue to plead her case when a blaring siren interrupted. The wailing increased in pitch and tempo and every pilot in the barracks shot to their feet pulling on boots and zipping flight suits.
The still barracks were suddenly like a disturbed hive of hornets. MaryAnn and Mandy shot to their feet. MaryAnn gripped Mandy’s arm and gave her a pleading look. Mandy looked to Rex who gritted his teeth then nodded. “I’ll tell them you scrambled before I could find you.”
MaryAnn’s smile made Rex realize what a beautiful young woman she’d become. He remembered the awkward, skinny tomboy from next door. Now she was a grown woman and he wondered how he’d never noticed.
He stepped away as the bustling pilots readied themselves to meet whatever was coming. He wanted to tell her to be careful, but he was too late as he watched her sprinting toward the door with her flight bag slapping her backside, and her helmet covering her dark hair. My God, what if she doesn’t come back? I’m sending her to her death.
Eleven
Jimmy and Hank had been paired up as a sniper team. Hank was the spotter and Jimmy the shooter. Jimmy had swapped out his M1 for a Springfield with a high-powered scope. Hank still had his M1, but his main weapon was the high-powered binoculars he gazed through searching for targets.
They’d been ordered to find themselves a good vantage point and start taking shots of opportunity. They’d scanned the battlefield and decided to occupy the far left flank. They went to the end of the trench-line then crawled through the churned ground, using bomb craters for cover, until they reached a burned out husk of an M4 Sherman tank. The crawl had taken them two hours and they were exhausted by the time they were ready to fire.
They lay on the ground beside the burned tank. It had been dug into the ground, but that hadn’t saved it from a direct hit from a Russian anti-tank round. It offered a dark, shady cover. They could use the binoculars without fear of the sun reflecting off the lens, giving away their position.
Hank scanned the ridge for targets. He’d seen some opportunities but nothing easy, so they’d decided to hold fire until they found a better target.
Hank stopped scanning and adjusted the focus. “I, I think I’ve got a target for you.”
Jimmy could hear the excitement in
his voice. He uttered, “Where?” He gazed through the 2.75X scope finding the landmark boulder.
Hank’s voice cracked as he spoke. “From the boulder, move right fifteen yards until you see the twisted burned tree.”
Jimmy moved the rifle slowly until he said, “Got it.”
“Angle up forty-five degrees right for thirty yards…target.”
Jimmy felt sweat beading on his forehead as he followed the commands, then he saw a head with a pair of binoculars. He could see the rounded helmet beneath the foliage the soldier had strung through the helmet’s webbing. He uttered, “Target.”
“Sniper crew,” Hank whispered. He was unable to hide the excitement in his voice.
Jimmy scanned to the left and found the barrel of the Russian sniper’s rifle. He squinted and moved until he found the shooter. He looked like a lump of dirt. If the spotter hadn’t been seen they would never have seen the sniper. The realization made Jimmy’s blood run cold. Am I that well concealed? Is someone about to shoot me? He took a deep breath pushed the thoughts aside. He whispered, “I’ve got the shooter. He’s to the left.”
Hank whispered, “Target,” then a second later, “Range two-hundred-fifty yards. Slight wind, aim a fraction right.”
Jimmy slowly reached up and touched his sight knobs but didn’t adjust them, then settled the Springfield against his shoulder. It felt good and natural. He loved the accuracy its long barrel provided. He got control of his breathing, careful to keep the weapon braced on the soft ground it rested upon.
He put the crosshair on the blob he knew to be the enemy sniper’s head, then moved slightly right. He figured he was aiming at the sniper’s left ear. He blew out his air and gently applied pressure to the trigger. The roar of the shot, startled Jimmy. He instinctively racked another 30.06 round with the bolt action, and reacquired the target. The scene had changed though. The blob had disappeared. He could still see the barrel, but it was tilted down. The spotter had dropped the binoculars and was looking backwards at his stricken comrade. Jimmy put the crosshairs on the soldier’s panicked face. He applied pressure and again was surprised when the Springfield cracked and thumped into his shoulder.
