by M. L. Maki
Thud, above and behind, maneuvers to miss the Wildcat, and Speedy breaks radio silence. “Shit, that was close. Puck, they popped a few your way. Do we engage?”
“Weapons tight, Speedy, they know not what they do.”
“Okay, Puck, but those friendlies are being decidedly unfriendly.”
“I know, Speedy,” and to Spike, “Can we circle around and show our wing markings?”
“Do we have their frequency?”
Puck asks, “Gandhi, do we make radio contact?”
“My man says negative. We’re just finishing out pass. RTB. And Puck, as we climb out, illuminate and do a circle looking for shipping.”
“Roger, Gandhi.”
As they climb, the propeller planes are left far below. They do a lazy turn to the left with the radar on, “See anything, Puck?”
“Nothing. I can see 400 miles. There is nothing.” Then, “No shipping, Gandhi.”
“Understood, we still control Wake and the reinforcements made it. Let’s go home, radio silence.”
HANGAR BAY 1, 1810, 26 DECEMBER, 1941
Chief Abernathy stands, in his Gi and black Hakama pants, on the workout mats with AT2 Julie ‘Mouse’ Mulligan, in her Gi, Hoolihan and Hunt in workout attire. They’re working through a kata, one move to the next, fluid and smooth. They go through the kata twice, then he stops, and tells them to repeat it, watching. “Gloria, your wrist needs to be a little higher with the fingers together. Good.”
As is pretty normal, they have an audience. As they finish, Lt. JG Kyle ‘Gandhi’ Jacobs walks onto the mats wearing his Gi. He bows toward Chief Abernathy, “May I join, Sensei?” Abernathy returns the bow and motions him to join in.
Book and Packs walk up, “My God, it’s Private Benjamin and her sidekicks practicing, ‘who flung dung’.” Abernathy looks at him for a moment, then they all continue.
Packs says, “Just let them be.”
“Fuck that, Packs, don’t wimp out on me,” moving closer, “You can’t use the Vulcan death grip on a Zero, girls. You’re wasting your time.”
Abernathy slides his feet together, spins to face Book, and in one smooth sliding motion, they are nose to nose. “Sir, I believe, you have someplace important to be.”
“Why, are you planning to assault an officer, if I don’t?”
“I understand it wouldn’t be the first time, sir, and now I see why. I’m a SEAL, sir, do you really want to piss me off?”
Sam steps up, “Lieutenant, we are simply exercising. Something we have to do. You know, you could always join us.”
Book sneers, “I don’t need ‘who flung dung’, it’s a waste of time.”
Abernathy quietly says, “Are you willing to spar with me, Lieutenant, so I may demonstrate Aikido’s value?”
“Hell no! Once you’re done, send them back into the kitchen. I need some dinner.” Book turns and walks away, and sees that Packs had already left.
Abernathy watches him go, then turns back to his pupils, “Another good reason to master martial arts, shall we continue?”
BLACK KNIGHTS READY ROOM, 0815, 27 DECEMBER, 1941
Sam walks in with a stack of technical manuals. Most of the guys are kicking back watching Star Wars and talking. Swede and Gloria are on far CAP. Holtz motions to her to come into his office. She sets the books down on a table and goes in. Leaving the door open, he hands her a cup of coffee, “How are you doing, any problem?”
“No, everything’s great. I’ve a lot of work to do, but it’s good to stay busy.”
“I want you to know, I appreciate what you did the other day, twenty-two kills in one day, beyond amazing.”
“Sir, you are welcome, sir.”
“Well, I guess, I ought not to beat around the bush. How do you feel about taking the XO position? I was thinking of Swede, but after he thrashed Book, we both know he can’t be XO.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad, too. He’d be good.” She pauses and smiles, “I’ve noticed you’ve been buried in your office a lot lately. I can help you catch up on paperwork.”
“In truth, you’ve earned the position. Had you not transitioned to fighters, you would already be an XO, and it’s nothing less than what you deserve.”
“Thank you, sir. Is this acting or permanent, so I know where I stand?”
“It’s permanent. You’re first duties will be writing up promotions and awards for the squadron officers. Pass down to the div-o’s that they need to do the same for their people. I’m giving your division to Walker. I think you should write up their recommendations, seeing as he’ll be new.”
“Yes, sir, not a problem. By the way, all the books are about the brain trust. Thud and I are putting together aviation technology development plans. The RO wants a recommendation as to who should be in overall charge of building new aircraft. I think it needs to be a senior pilot. Any recommendations?”
“Do you want to do it? You’re the leading ace. Most of us want to fly.”
“No, I can’t do it. I’m a woman. I doubt the leadership from 1941 will take me seriously. It has to be someone with gravitas. Do you want it, sir?”
“Me? No way, I want to fly. Maybe Groovy, the skipper of the Tomcatters. He’s a Commander and I heard he did well. Or maybe, Dixie, he’s the most senior. For that matter, maybe one of the other squadron skippers. Anyway, let’s tell the guys there is a new sheriff in town.”
They walk out together, and Holtz says, “Listen up, you goofs. Lt. Hunt is now the squadron XO. Give her all the respect you would me, especially the paper work. Carry on.”
ON CAP 50 MILES FROM THE BATTLE GROUP, 0820, 27 DECEMBER, 1941
Swede and Hot Pants do slow laps ahead of the battle group, using their cameras to watch for any ships or aircraft, and enjoying the beautiful clear skies. They’re doing 400 knots, with their radar off. GQ says, “You really rocked the show the other night.”
“Thanks. At first, I didn’t want to do it, but it was fun.”
“I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Yep, GQ, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. Tons, I don’t know about you, either.”
“Okay, what do you want to know?”
“I like the fact that you’re about the only guy who’s never hit on me, but it intrigues me, as well.”
“Oh, man, you would ask that. Okay, I knew going in that if I thought of you that way, it would mess me up.”
“I can see that. Please understand, I don’t think I’m all that pretty, but since high school I’ve had to beat guys off with a stick. It’s maddening.”
“I’m kind of surprised you aren’t married. A ring would keep guys away.”
“My mom married at eighteen and spent the rest of her life changing diapers, cooking meals, and doing laundry. I want to fly, not fry. Besides, you underestimate the libido of the American male, rings don’t deter them. I’ve seen it.”
“He laughs, “True. There are no shortage of cads and scoundrels. How do you suppose Spike and Puck do it?”
“Do what?”
“Avoid emotional issues in the air.”
“I suppose the same way you do. Puck probably just doesn’t see her like that. Indians are se stoic.”
“No, if I’m not wrong, he likes her.”
“You think so? I can’t read him. You know everyone reads Sam wrong, though. They think she’s cold and she isn’t. She tries so hard to get it right, to earn respect. She doesn’t know how to flirt, so she seems like a bitch.”
“Eric isn’t all that cold and stoic, either. Listen to him on the radio, he comes alive in the air. He just puts the Kalija face on in public.”
“Kalija?”
He sings the Hank Williams Sr. song, “Kalija was a wooden Indian, standing by the door…”
She laughs, “Oh, that. Yeah, he does that. So, you think he likes her? That would be a kind of hell, you know. It circles back then to how can you lock down your feelings.”
“Okay, in truth, you’re really not my kind of girl. I thi
nk you’re pretty, and all that, but well, not for me. I would rather be friends.”
“I like that. I can live with that just fine.”
“HP, I see something, straighten us out.” She waggles her wings to get Swede’s attention, and straightens out. “Okay, it’s a submarine on the surface. Come right 20 degrees.” She follows his steer, watching Swede, making sure he’s adjusting. Then he’s flying next to them, thumbs up. They see it, too. Even though, the sub is 40 miles away, they can see it clearly.
Gandhi makes the call, “Gold Eagle, Knight Flight 3. We’ve spotted a submarine on the surface bearing 350, range 40 miles. It’s closing the fleet.”
“Knight Flight 3, Gold Eagle, can you identify the nationality?”
“Not yet, permission for a fly by?”
“Permission granted.”
Swede motions to Hot Pants, then inverts and leads them down in a three G pull, lining up for a pass. “Let’s rattle their cage.” Their wings sweep back, as the fighters gain speed in the dive. At 15,000 feet they exceed the speed of sound and the distance closes quickly.
CHAPTER 30
USS DOLPHIN, SS-169, 0850, 27 DECEMBER, 1941
Ensign Rector and BM3 Pilton are on the sail, binoculars to their eyes, heading out on their first war time patrol. Their skipper, Lt. Gordon B. Rainer, calls up on the sound powered phone, “You two staying awake up there?”
Rector says, “Yes, sir, it’s a beautiful day. Not a ship in sight, sir.”
Rainer says, “Look for aircraft, too. The boys at Hickam are pretty jumpy. I don’t want to be hit by a friendly.”
Pilton asks, “Sir, what’s that at 10 o’clock high?”
Rector looks and sees two triangles falling from the sky. They are far enough away and moving so fast, markings can’t be seen. But, then, he sees a glint from the canopies, “Aircraft, 10 o’clock, diving on us. Clear the bridge.”
Submariners practice crash dives to avoid aircraft. The two men pull the phones from their jacks, put the cap on the circuit, and practically jump down the ladder. The boatswain mate first, then the ensign. As he starts down, Rector looks up and sees the two aircraft flash by, then the whole sail shakes, and he feels a compression on his chest. He slides down the ladder, dogs the hatch, and reports, “All clear, sir.”
Lt. Rainer orders, “Dive. Dive. Make our depth 100 feet.”
The boatswain mate of the watch sounds the a-ooga horn, then says on the 1MC, “Dive. Dive,” then sounds the horn again.
Rainer asks, “What kind of plane, John?”
“I’ve no idea, sir. They were a type I’ve never seen before. They were extremely fast.”
From the squawk box comes, “Engine secured, green light in engine room. 90% on batteries.”
Rainer pushes a button, “Okay, Clyde.”
The dive officer, Lt. JG Karl Helmstein says, “Dive planes down 15 degrees, flooding tanks to 6 degree down bubble. We are ahead standard on batteries.”
Rainer says, “Very well,” then to sonar, “Do you have anything?”
ST2 Bagley says, “Sir, there are faint noises down south, but they are far away. The blast from the aircraft nearly broke my ears, sir. I think they dropped depth charges on us.”
“Okay, let’s get this thing underwater and start maneuvering.”
The dive officer says, “50 feet, 5 degree down bubble. Helm ease to 10 degrees down angle.”
“10 degrees, aye.”
Rainer says, “Left full rudder, let’s see if we can wiggle away.”
IN THE AIR ABOVE THE DOLPHIN
GQ says, “Well, we rattled their cage. The bridge watch cleared out in a hurry. I saw the number 169 on the sail.”
Hot Pants says, “Okay, call it in.”
GQ, “Gold Eagle, Knight 894, the submarine is submerging. Not sure of nationality, but the number on the superstructure was 169.”
“Understood, Knight 894, orbit and standby. We are sending an S-3 to prosecute.”
Captain Tenzar on the Long Beach says, “Gold Eagle, this is Long Beach actual, we are surging out to identify and support. Our small boys haven’t the fuel to be sprinting around.”
Captain Johnson replies, “Long Beach, Gold Eagle actual, we can’t afford to lose you.”
Tenzar says, “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be appreciated. The S-3 cannot talk to the submarine, we can.”
“Understood, we’ll send out a couple of helos to help you, standby to receive.”
LONG BEACH, #1 ENGINE ROOM, UPPER LEVEL
On the 2MC, “Set maneuvering, ahead full.” Watch standers scramble, starting a second condensate pump and securing the steam driven sea water pump. A few minutes later, the engineering officer of the watch announces, “Ahead flank power limiting.”
The main engine throttle opens further, and MM1 Cullen walks out of the auxiliary throttle station to check on his watch standers. The main engine watch, Walters, is leaning over the lube oil strainer checking the DP. MM3 Hall pokes his head up the lower level ladder in the center of the engine room, “What’s going on, Carl?”
Cullen says, “Beats me. Are both condensate pumps running?”
Smiling, Hall says, “Yep, and level is good.”
“Well, quit grinning at me and keep an eye on your watch.”
Walters walks up to him, “Engine temperatures are fine. Vacuum is a little low.”
Cullen says, “Watch it. Call if it reaches the limit.”
Captain Tenzar, on the 1MC, says, “Good afternoon Long Beach, patrol aircraft have identified a submarine 50 miles away. We’re going to intercept and identify the sub before it can get within torpedo range of the carrier. We do not yet know if it is a hostile, but we are going to operate that way until we do. I will be calling General Quarters in a bit, but for now, keep on your toes.”
Walters looks at Hall, “Damn.”
LONG BEACH, #1 ENCLOSED OPERATING STATION
A power limiting bell is stressful. It takes a 28 year old plant and wrings every available ounce of steam from it. The reactor operator, ET2 Mike Simmons, watches his control panel intently. The watch officer, LCDR Buckman says, “Watch your power, RO.” Buckman is standing at his desk and can see the reactor power panel as well as Simmons. Simmons, his hand on the shim switch, is ready to react if power gets too high. Per procedure, he calls out reactor power every few seconds, “Ninety six percent, ninety seven percent. Hold throttle.” The man besides him stops moving the throttles.
IN THE AIR APPROACHING THE DOLPHIN
Lt. JG Vance “Splash’ Bunton, flying Bird 621, a S-3 Viking from the World Famous Screw Birds, is approaching the contact, designated Sierra 2. He says, “Knight 309, Bird 621 approaching at angels 1. Can you give me a starting point?”
Gandhi says, “Good morning, Bird 621. Come right 10 degrees and you should be 6 miles out.”
As the S-3 comes in, it extends its magnetic anomaly detector. Submarines are made of steel, a ferrous material, and are magnetically active. Modern subs go to great pains to hide their magnetic signature, but in WWII the technology was brand new. On the second pass, the sensor operator, AW3 Lewis ‘Knucklehead’ Baker, says, “I have it. Float dropped.”
Splash says, “Okay, circling for another pass.” A couple of minutes later, Knucklehead says, “Another hit, float dropped.”
They make another pass, drop a third float, and tactical controller, Ensign Mike ‘Guppy’ Tucker, says, “Course is 190, speed is 5 knots.”
Splash calls it in, “Gold Eagle, Bird 621, confirmed submarine contact bearing 030, range 45 miles, speed 5 knots, standing by.”
Bird 621, Gold Eagle, track and monitor, weapons tight. Long Beach is inbound to prosecute.”
“Gold Eagle, Bird 621, roger,” then to his crew, “Damn, we find it and the surface squids get to kill it. It’s bullshit. Guppy, what’s the status of our fish?”
Guppy says, “Both fish check fine.”
“Well, maybe they’ll miss.”
From the Vinson, Kni
ght Flight 3, continue mission.”
USS LONG BEACH COMBAT INFORMATION CENTER, 4TH DECK
The Long Beach cuts through the waves, leaving a long frothy wake. At 721 feet, it’s the largest cruiser in the US fleet. It’s two nuclear reactors, though old, can still drive her up to her top speed of over 30 knots. Her weapons suite includes standard missiles, Tomahawk cruise missiles, two Phalanx Gatling guns, two Harpoon anti-ship missile launchers, ASROC rocket propelled torpedoes, and five inch guns. She’s easily identified by the huge boxy forward superstructure.
Within an hour of starting the sprint, the target submarine is within ASROC range. At high speed, the sonar, located inside the bow, is worthless because of the flow noise of water passing over the ship. At 15 nautical miles, Captain Tenzar orders, “Ahead standard, sound general quarters.”
The throttles are slowly closed on the main engines to prevent over-torqueing the shafts. A ship of 15,500 tons takes a long time to slow. ST1 Todd Calvin says, “Combat, sonar, submerged target bearing 349, range 13 miles, depth 200 feet.”
Tenzar calls the bridge, “Bridge, Captain, make our course 320, slow to two thirds.”
The OOD says, “320, at two thirds, aye.”
Tenzar then tells the tactical action officer (TAO) running the CIC, “Weapons tight, George. No mistakes.”
LCDR George Sulu says, “Yes, sir. Weapons tight.”
Then, over radio, “Long Beach, Eightballer 148 approaching Sierra 2 with Eightballer 416, ready to assist.”
Tenzar picks up the radio, “Roger, Eightballer 1, weapons tight at this time. Acknowledge.”
“Eightballer 148 acknowledges weapons tight,” says CDR David ‘Yankee’ Crocker.
“Eightballer 416 acknowledges weapons tight,” says Lt. Sandra ‘Cargo Britches’ Douglas.
A moment later, Tenzar says, “Bird 621, acknowledge weapons tight.”
“Bird 621 acknowledges weapons tight.”
Tenzar says, “Eightballer 148, do you have dipping sonar?”
