Fighting Her Father's War: The FIghting Tomcats

by M. L. Maki

  “We’re bingo fuel, no time to fuck around,” and Book comes alongside Swede’s plane and hand signals for a return to base line course to the ship.

  CHAPTER 7

  ADMIRAL’S CONFERENCE ROOM, USS CARL VINSON

  1145, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  Captain Johnson and Admiral Ren are having lunch. “Well, William, no sign of the Hewitt. There’s not even an oil slick.”

  “I know, sir, it doesn’t make sense. Whatever is going on, ships don’t just disappear.”

  “Have we got anything from signals intelligence?”

  “Again, sir, nothing makes sense. They picked up a little chatter on short wave, but most of the talk is about Pearl Harbor and Europe, and it doesn’t really make any sense.”

  “I understand, William. To quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, ‘once you eliminate the impossible, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, must contain the truth.”

  “Okay, but where does that leave us, sir, up the creek without a paddle?”

  “It leaves us lacking a lot of information. The temptation is to continue the mission as ordered. It is tempting because it doesn’t require a decision. It’s also stupid. The situation has changed and a good leader acknowledges the change and adapts. Whatever hit us, it probably hit the Philippines, and pretty hard. I’m starting to think we may have more luck if we pull into Yokasuka, but I don’t want to run home with our tail between our legs.”

  “I understand, Admiral. I think, though, the first decision we need to make is to accept the loss of the Hewitt and continue on. I think the search we did today is due diligence. We covered over 1000 square miles without even a hint of Hewitt.”

  “Have we debriefed the pilots that overflew the atoll?”

  “They just landed, sir. It will be a few minutes, and a half an hour, or so, for the film.”

  “We need to get some good minds on this, William. I’m calling an all captains meeting for this evening, say 1900, in my conference room. Another point, let’s put together a brain trust. You know what I mean, collect up some of the pocket protector crowd, and throw in a few odd balls that think outside of the box. Let’s see what they come up with.”

  “Yes, sir, I know just the people.”

  USS CARL VINSON, 03 LEVEL, AFT EXERCISE ROOM, 1325, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  Samantha runs on a treadmill facing the aft bulkhead, Gloria running next to her, head phones on, quietly singing as she runs. Sam, also with headphones on, is more aware of her surroundings, and looking behind her spots two male sailors watching them. She gives them a cold stare and they move along. Gloria asks, “Was your butt burning, or something?”

  Sam smiles and shakes her head, “No, situational awareness.”

  “How did you and Puck get along on ready five?”

  “We’re working it out.”

  “He hasn’t promised to show you his totem pole, has he?”

  “Gloria!”

  Unabashed, Gloria chuckles, “Just thinking that’s one way of knowing for sure how that gorgeous Indian got his call sign.”

  BLACK KNIGHTS READY ROOM, 1410, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  Captain William ‘Dixie’ Lee walks from the squad room into CDR Holtz’s office. “Hey, Dixie, what’s up?”

  “The admiral wants to put together a brain trust to figure out why we lost comms, and the other things that are happening right now. They meet at 1700 in the RT class room. I want Lieutenant Hunt on it.”

  “Okay, I’ll pull her from the flight rotation.”

  “That’s not necessary. This will be a collateral duty. She stays in rotation.”

  “CAG, you sure have taken to women in flight suits. May I ask why?”

  “Jim, we were on the FDR together with the Sundowners. You’re a damn fine pilot and you need to get your head straight about this. You cannot turn back the clock. Women are serving in uniform, and that’s the way it is. Truth is some of them make damn fine pilots, so as soon as you can overcome your thick-headedness about the whole thing, the better. Savvy? The brain trust meets at 1700 tonight in the RT classroom.”

  HANGAR BAY TWO, 1630, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  Spike is in the cockpit of her F-14 with the procedure check list up on the dash. Under her breath she says, “Okay, flame out right engine.” She quickly moves her hands through the control sequence from memory, and says, “Descend to less than 14K. Commence relight, back to level flight.” She looks at the book, “Okay, remember the speed.” She sits quiet for a moment, “Misfire.” Her hands move through the motions as she says, “Arming switch, pull away.” She looks at the book.

  Chief ‘Mosey’ White, standing beside the plane, asks, “What are you doing?”

  Startled, she looks down, “Um, practicing, Chief. Making sure I remember all the immediate actions for problems in the air.”

  He shakes his head, “Can we talk about Airman Siemens?”

  “Yeah, sure, Chief,” and she climbs down and closes the canopy.

  “Walk with me, LT.”

  Sam says, “He was trying to put an access panel in upside down. I can’t just sit by while he screws up his job.”

  “Lieutenant, sometimes you need to let people learn by making mistakes. By correcting Airman Siemens too soon, he now feels you don’t trust him.”

  “I don’t.”

  Exasperated, Chief White says, “I know. Me either, but you can’t show it. Give him time to grow into the job.”

  Shaking her head, she thinks: Shit, I have to fix this place and now you are part of the problem. “What are you trying to tell me, Chief?”

  “Lieutenant, is this your first time running a division?”

  “I was QAO for VAW-122, but that was only a couple of first classes and a chief.”

  Mosey smiles, “Ok, LT, what is your job in this division?”

  She thinks for a moment, squares her shoulders, and says, “I’m in charge of the men and responsible for maintaining their training, quality of work, and military bearing.”

  “No, that is not your job. That’s my job. Your job is to learn from me. Legally, you’re in charge, but functionally, I am. My job is to mentor you through the mine fields of leadership. Are we clear?”

  Sam tightens her lips, narrowing her eyes, thinking: Chief, you work for me. “Just what are trying to say, Chief?”

  “Ok, I want to be clear about this. I’ve been in the Navy 16 years. I’ve been a chief for seven. You are not my first division officer. We can basically doe it two ways, and I’ve done it both ways. Either you can be a cooperative student, or you can fight me. Cooperative is easier, but regardless, I will win. You will either learn what you must, or you will fail, destroying what appears, from this point of view to be a promising career. Okay, how is it going to go?”

  Feeling her chest tighten, Sam thinks: Either I fight the chief and all of command or I trust him. How can I trust him? Can he see how messed up I am? I have to get it right. Have to…Have to trust him. Sam takes a deep breath, “Chief, I don’t want to fight you. I never intended that. I…I know I’m wet behind the ears.”

  “Shit. Wet behind the ears? I haven’t heard that since…um. Where are you from, ma’am?”

  “Tennessee, east Tennessee. I was raised on a farm.”

  “Okay, good. Farm people generally have a bit of common sense. Now, what do we do about Airman Siemens?”

  “Obviously, I don’t have a clue. I wish I did.”

  “That’s fine. You’re learning. What you do is give him the same maintenance on your bird. It is coming up, I checked. Don’t tell him your sorry. That comes off as weak and indecisive. A leader must be decisive, even if he, or she, is wrong.”

  “After a deep breath, “My bird?”

  “Yep, nothing says I trust you like asking someone to fix the aircraft you fly.”

  “I thought we both agreed not to trust him?”

  “We don’t. AD1 will follow after him and sort him out, making sure everything is squared away with positive reinforcement, not negative
. Get it?”

  “Yeah, okay Chief,” nodding her head.

  “How long have you been in the Navy, ma’am?”

  “Six years, Chief. I’ve been on a Med cruise with the Blue Tails, but this is my first WestPac.”

  “Okay, we’ll be hitting Subic first for Christmas. I recommend you stay on the base at night, or get away from Olongapo. The guys are going to be misbehaving, and it makes things awkward.”

  “Awkward?”

  “Um, imagine walking down a dingy third world shithole street and stumbling onto, say AD1 with a hooker on each arm…awkward.”

  “Understood, I’ll stay on the boat.”

  “Nah, just on the base at night. There’s a nice O club, or so they tell me, white table clothes, the works.”

  Sam laughs, “Right, Chief.”

  “You’re a bit rough around the edges, ma’am, but you listen and you seem to have a level head. You’re gonna work out.”

  “So, I pay attention, and if I can’t figure something out, come straight to you.”

  “You’re getting it. Every discipline decision should be a joint one.”

  “Right, Chief. Thank you.”

  They see a line of your airdales waiting in line at a closed door. Chief asks, “What are you doing?”

  Lori ‘Sass’ Givens, from Sam’s division says, “We are waiting for shoe issue, Chief. Some petty officers were here too, but they had to go on watch.”

  White and Sam struggle not to laugh, “Guys, go back to work. That’s a fan room and the ship doesn’t issue shoes.”

  Lori says, “But, Chief, they said.”

  White says, “I know, Givens, it’s an old trick that black shoes like to pull on unsuspecting airman. Get back to work.”

  AD1 Gellar approaches, “Ma’am, the Captain wants you to go the RT classroom at 1700.”

  Sam looks at White, then back to Gellar, “Do you know why?”

  “No, ma’am, I just know it’s below the reactor department office, starboard side, aft of the mess decks. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Sam says, “Thank you, Gellar. I’d best get going.”

  CARL VINSON REACTOR OFFICE, 1650, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  Captain Klindt steps out of his office and looks at the two men in front of him. “Okay, folks, the captain has called on us to figure out what the hell has been going on after the lightning storm. He asked for my most creative thinkers. Unfortunately, they are all on watch, so I’m stuck with you.”

  They chuckle, and MM1 Shawn Hughes asks, “Sir, will we be off the watch bill?”

  You would like that, but, no can-do. Tell you what, I’ll keep you off the evening watches, and if we can figure this out correctly in less than 24 hours, you will stand no duty in our next liberty port, but we have to be both accurate and complete. Meet the rest of the team at 1700 in the RT classroom.”

  “Who else is attending?” asks ETCS Scott Richardson, the Reactor Controls Senior Chief.

  “You two, Lt. Warren, myself, and some others.”

  REACTOR TRAINING CLASSROOM, 1700, 20 DECEMBER, 1941

  An unusual group of people sit around a table in the RT classroom. There is MM1 Hughes, ETCS Richardson, and Lt. Warren from the reactor department; Lt. Hunt, Lt. JG Mike ‘Too Tall’ Mohr, both pilots; and a crypto-tech, CT1 Kevin Barr, who is huddled up in a conversation with RM1 Phillip Denton, from radio. The two occasionally look at the others as if they are interlopers on their private conversation.

  Too Tall sits near Sam, looking uncomfortable, “Lieutenant Hunt?”

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me last night. There is no way I would have found the boat without you on my wing.”

  “No problem, Too Tall. I’m glad we were there.”

  “Any idea why we’re here?”

  “None.”

  Lt. Warren speaks up, “The RO asked us to come down here as part of a brain trust. I assume he wanted you guys to join, but I have no idea why?”

  Captain Klindt walks into the room. Warren says, “Attention on deck!” and thy all stand up.

  Klindt says, “Carry on, and please sit down. Coffee and cookies are coming down so we can all be comfortable. But first, I want to sort out one thing. I want everybody to take their hats and put them over there on the shelf.”

  Hunt stands up, takes off her ball cap, and puts in on the shelf. Mike Mohr slowly stand up and follows suit. MM1 Hughes stays seated, “Captain, why are we doing that.”

  “Nukes, God, I love them, and I hate them. They always have to question everything. MM1 just do what I ask and I’ll explain” By then the rest have also put their caps up and Klindt spins his ball cap in his hands and sets it up with the others. As Hughes finally puts his cap up and sits down, a mess specialist comes in with cookies and a carafe of coffee. “Thank you, Petty Officer Lovejoy, we appreciate the refreshments. Please, put them on the table and excuse us. Thank you, again.”

  Klindt waits for him to leave, looking over his motley crew. “The Captain had me set up this brain trust to figure out what has happened during the lightning storm. All of the hats are over there, and so are our ranks. We are equals around this table. No idea is a bad idea. No suggestion is a stupid suggestion, and I expect to hear from all of you.

  “This is the format we are going to use: first, discussing what information we actually have. That is, what we really know. Next, having put that on the table, with no analysis whatsoever, we’re going to brainstorm and put all the ideas out there that everyone comes up with on this team. Having done that, we will start evaluating which of the ideas actually meet with all the known criteria. We are authorized to recommend missions to the Captain and the Admiral to gather more information if we need it. But, we need to move fast with this, because it’s possible we’re at war right now.” He pauses and lets that statement sink in.

  “This job is a very relevant one for the safety of every man and woman in the battle group. Okay, first order of business, does anyone volunteer to be the clerk and write all this down?”

  Nobody makes eye contact and all hands are studiously below the table top. Klindt smiles slightly and Sam chuckles. After a short wait, Klindt says, “Excellent, thank you Petty Officer Hughes for volunteering. Your initiative earlier is paying off now.”

  “Hey, wait a minute, sir. I’m a lousy clerk. I can’t even type. If we are all equals in this room, why shouldn’t an officer do it?”

  “Because, Hughes, as your department head, I’m concerned with your personal development.”

  “Yes, sir.” Shawn pulls out a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and prepares to take notes.

  “Okay, a brief introduction from each of us, so we all know with whom we are working. Keep it relevant. Save the slow walks on the beach stuff for another time. I’ll start. Craig Klindt, masters in nuclear physics from MIT, qualified on five different types of reactors and did a tour at Bettis. Last command was CO of the Virginia, a CGN. Lieutenant Warren, you’re next.”

  “I’m John Warren, ME in double EE from UW, first plant.”

  “Maybe in English, John.”

  “Um, yes, sir, masters in electrical engineering from University of Washington, Electrical Division Officer in number 1 power plant, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Hunt?”

  “Samantha Hunt, bachelors in aeronautical engineering from Cal-Tech, former E-2 Hawkeye pilot, now F-14 pilot with VF-154.”

  “Lieutenant Mohr?”

  “Mike Mohr, bachelors in mechanical engineering from Oregon State, minor in math. I spent three years designing robots for DARPA before I joined the Navy in a moment of insanity. I fly the EA-6B and wan involved in the design and pre-design for the threat upgrade to the B. I’m a Red Flag graduate. Oh, and I hate walks on the beach, sand gets everywhere.”

  “Senior Chief?”

  “Scott Richardson, PhD in electronics engineering from MIT, and Reactor Controls Division Chief.” He gives Klindt a long look, “A
nd no, I do not want to be an officer.”

  “Understood, MM1 Hughes?”

  “I gotta a degree from the school of hard knocks and a minor in bullshit. I’m just a mechanic, sir.”

  “Not hardly, you are LCDR Sander’s go to guy. You did a freeze repair seal on the fly in number 2 Reactor Auxiliary Room to get us underway on time. You’re an exceptional mechanic, and no good at bull shit. Petty Officer Denton?”

  “I’m Phillip Denton. This is my fourth deployment and first brain trust. I’m a radioman, so ninety percent of what I do is classified. I’m not going to be any help.”

  Klindt stares at him, “You do recall Captain Johnson’s briefing of just an hour ago. We are all cleared in within the context of our agenda, and RM1, I set the agenda, so spare us the ritual dick beating, okay?”

  “I understand, sir, but it has to be cleared through DoN.”

  “Yep, let’s just get them on the phone, shall we? The lack of comms is most of why we are meeting. Petty Officer Barr?”

  “Yes, sir, Kevin Barr. I have a MA in linguistics from Columbia, with minors in math and music. I speak a handful of modern languages.”

  “Which languages, Barr?”

  “All of them, sir.”

  “Is that a long list?”

  “I read, write, and speak German, Polish Swedish, Spanish, and French from birth. I’m pretty good in Russian, Romanian, Suomi, Norwegian, Italian, Portuguese, Hindi, Hebrew, and Greek. I can get by, a bit, in Chinese, Japanese, and Arabic. Oh, I also, speak, read, and write ancient Sanskrit, Hebrew, Latin, Greek, with related Aegean languages, Sumerian, and a bit of Egyptian.”

  Warren asks, “Isn’t that everything?”

  “No, sir, I’m thinking of expanding to Native American languages as well. Hope is fascinating and Mayan is out of this world. No one can read it.”

  Warren looks bemused, “Why are you in the Navy? I would think you’d have been grabbed by, um, No Such Agency.”

  “Turned them down. Didn’t want to live in a cubicle 24-7.”

  Mohr says, “You live in a box here.”

  “Yes, sir, I live in a box which is traveling the world and I get to practice for free.”