On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  U.S.S. Houston

  Manila Bay

  1434 Local Time (0134 Eastern)

  6 October

  Jacob looked thoughtfully at the chart spread out on the table before him, then back across at the captain of the U.S.S. Houston.

  “So, Admiral Hart has decided that we are going to ally with the Dutch and attempt to keep the Japanese from the East Indies?” Jacob asked incredulously.

  “Yes, XO,” Captain Wallace replied. “I take it you do not approve.”

  “The damn Japs have Singapore,” Jacob said, incredulous. “That’s like trying to close off a flooded compartment when the overhead’s been blown away.

  Captain Wallace regarded him calmly for several seconds, then replied.

  “How much oil is there in the Philippines?”

  “None, sir,” Jacob replied, instantly seeing the light.

  “Exactly. Just as there is none in Japan, which is why it is widely believed the East Indies is one of her primary objectives if war breaks out. I don’t see the Germans trying to maintain convoys from Iraq during open hostilities, do you?”

  I still can’t believe we’re just letting the Krauts sail tankers right by us, Jacob thought. What’s the good of having a navy if we’re afraid to use it?

  “But that’s not what our war plan states we are to do,” Jacob replied. Captain Wallace smiled benignly.

  “War Plan Orange is somewhat vague on what we’re supposed to do, actually,” Captain Wallace replied evenly. “Other than die bravely, and if I’m going to do that I want it to be for some other reason than General MacArthur’s pride.”

  “I’m not sure I follow, Captain,” Jacob replied.

  “The fate of the Philippines is directly linked to that Army bastard’s reputation, his ‘place in history’ as he’s always telling Admiral Hart,” Captain Wallace said, the disgust veritably dripping off his words. The man paused to take a drink from the coffee mug at his left elbow.

  “Should the Philippines fall, General MacArthur would be disgraced. Especially since he has been spending so much to train the Filipinos over the last year.”

  Captain Wallace jabbed his finger at Lingayen Gulf.

  “MacArthur sees our fleet as something to hurl against the Japanese transports to disrupt them when they land here,” Wallace sneered. “He doesn’t comprehend that the Japs will probably bring up battleships to blow this vessel out of the water.”

  Jacob nodded at that statement.

  Trying to explain to an Army officer that 8-inch guns aren’t all that heavy is like trying to explain to a toddler that the bath water isn’t all that hot, he thought bitterly. It’s all a matter of scale and experience.

  “The Commonwealth commander, Admiral Phillips, just spent the last two days guaranteeing Admiral Hart that Her Majesty’s Navy will fight for the Dutch East Indies,” Captain Wallace continued.

  “Be nice if he’d had some of that fighting spirit for Singapore or Malaya then,” Jacob observed, doing his best to keep his voice matter-of-fact. Captain Wallace’s glare told him that he’d succeeded only enough not to be immediately relieved.

  “Rumor has it that admiral the Krauts sent out here basically told the Brits they’d gas London again if they tried to put up a fight. Given that Percival still answered to King Edward, he really didn’t have a choice. Phillips, on the other hand, answers to the rightful Queen.”

  Jacob nearly laughed at that, but stopped himself.

  Rightful Queen?! He says that as if she’s ours, he thought as Captain Wallace continued.

  “Admiral Phillips, per previous agreement with the Dutch, will set out from Sydney for Java if hostilities appear imminent. There he, and we, will combine with the Dutch East Indies fleet and deny the oil fields to the Japanese.”

  “Sir, that’s suicide with the little bastards owning Singapore,” Jacob replied in disbelief. “Hell, they can row small craft from there to Sumatra, never mind bring any fleet units they station in the harbor! How will we fight under enemy air cover?”

  “We won’t,” Captain Wallace snapped. “With the amount of air power the Dutch and Commonwealth will have concentrated in the Dutch East Indies, intelligence estimates that the Dutch and Brits have the Japanese air force outnumbered two to one. Factor in their advantage in quality, and it’s probably going to be a rout. Air superiority is a two-way street.”

  Looking at the charts in front of him, Jacob found himself slightly mollified.

  Yet the Japanese aren’t stupid, he thought. I have to imagine some little yellow son-of-a-bitch is staring at his own charts right now.

  “You seem unconvinced, Commander,” Captain Wallace observed.

  “Sir, I can’t help but think that the Japanese have to have figured this out as well,” Jacob said slowly. “They picked a fight with the Russians and got their heads, hands, and feet handed to them before they slunk back to Tokyo to lick their wounds. A thorough beating tends to make a man introspective.”

  “Commander, there’s a natural order of things,” Captain Wallace replied. “A bunch of people who were in the Dark Ages less than eighty years ago aren’t going to beat us, the Brits, and the Dutch. That’s why they backed down back in ’41, and if they don’t remember what’s good for them we’ll give them a beating that will make the Russian fight seem like a love tap.”

  “What about the Philippines?” Jacob asked.

  “If the Japanese don’t take the East Indies, they can hold this place until Judgment Day—they won’t be getting any oil through to their Home Islands, German or otherwise. Six months to a year of that and we’ll be able to sail right into Tokyo Bay.”

  Captain Wallace stepped back from the map.

  “But enough talk of fighting in the Dutch Indies,” the man said, looking at the clock. “What’s our status?”

  “Well, when it comes to a fight, I think we’re as ready as we can be,” Jacob stated firmly. He pulled out a small notebook in which he had written notes to himself.

  “All departments completed their last checks early yesterday, and we finished taking on ammunition about an hour ago,” he said. “I still think our damage control is shaky, but it’s getting better and I’ve drilled as much as possible without asking for the Boise to shoot us with a live shell.”

  “I don’t think having his cruisers shoot one another is what Admiral Hart intended when he stated we needed to conduct realistic training,” Captain Wallace replied sardonically. “Admiral Hart is conducting a captain’s call at his quarters in about an hour and a half. Set a skeleton watch and get the men some liberty—I get the feeling we’re about to start training with our new allies.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Jacob replied.

  “Oh, and Commander—not a word of our discussion to any other officers,” Wallace warned. “We don’t need talk getting around about what our plans are. General MacArthur has many connections. I don’t want some fat, dumb, and happy senator in Washington deciding this vessel is expendable after all, just as long as precious Dougie doesn’t get hurt.”

  “Understood, Captain,” Jacob acknowledged.

  “Until then, I’m going to my cabin to get cleaned up.” With that, Captain Wallace turned from the chart table and headed for the hatch leading from his day cabin to his quarters. After he left, Jacob took another look at the map.

  It’s going to be one hell of a fight if it comes to that, he thought. It’s almost as if everyone is just waiting for a reason to go to war.

  CHAPTER 3: CATALYSTS AND DIABOLISM

  Changes in military systems come about only through the pressure of public opinion or disaster in war.—Brigadier General Billy Mitchell

  Mobile, Alabama

  1000 Local (1100 Eastern)

  1 November 1942

  “Maybe if we just pretend the calendar’s not there, your leave won’t be almost over,” Joyce Cotner said quietly, her breath moving the hair on Eric’s chest. The couple were laying in her bed, a large king size with mahogany posts, dark red
drapes, and a similarly colored bedskirt that hid the box spring underneath.

  Eric chuckled as he looked down at the petite blonde, stroking her back.

  “I’ve still got two weeks. That is, if I don’t decide to go over the hill,” he replied.

  “Why Mr. Cobb, whatever would make you want to do that?” Joyce asked sarcastically as she ran her hand down his stomach. He gasped as she gently gripped him underneath the sheets.

  “I don’t know, Miss Cotner,” he replied evenly. “Maybe getting to lay with you like this more often than just when your parents conspicuously decide to go to the Gulf Coast for vacation?”

  “Well if you’ll recall, they were planning on hosting a certain married couple along with them,” Joyce said, her voice getting a bit of an edge.

  So is it generally a bad idea to have your manhood in your fiancée’s hand when she’s thinking about strangling your sister? Eric thought with a slight edge of dismay.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Joyce asked, looking at him with her blue eyes.

  “Just hoping that you remember it’s not my sister’s neck you’re holding,” Eric said worriedly. Joyce’s mouth dropped in shock, then she started laughing.

  “I love you, Eric Cobb,” she said as she lay her head back down on his chest. “And I wouldn’t be doing this,” she replied, giving him a few strokes, “with your sister’s neck.”

  “I would hope not,” he snorted, his hips moving involuntarily to meet her touch. “But how about we stop talking about relatives…” he started, then stopped as Joyce slid her lower body over onto his.

  “Good plan,” she replied lightly, then slid herself onto him. “Or stop talking period.”

  “Okay, I think you’re trying to kill me,” he said later as they both sat down for lunch.

  “Eric, you’ve known me almost my entire life: Would that really be how I tried to kill you?” Joyce asked sarcastically as she spread some salad dressing on homemade bread. Eric felt a slight smile cross his face.

  “The fact it would be so unexpected would more than make up for the unpleasantness I had to suffer,” Eric retorted, then whipped his head out of the way as Joyce flung some salad dressing at him.

  Even in that white sundress she throws better than some men I know, he thought. Must be the only daughter thing.

  “It’d be hard to explain to mom how I got salad dressing on this shirt,” he replied, checking to make sure no errant dressing had ended up on his collar or shoulder. “It will definitely show up with this blue.”

  “Gee, maybe you should have thought about that before you were such a smarty pants.”

  “I think my exertions may be causing me to have a delirious stretch,” Eric replied. “Being ridden like a stallion does that to a man.”

  Joyce blushed deeply under her tan.

  “You know, some women firmly believe in waiting until they’re married to do what we just did,” Joyce said archly. “Do not convert me to that way of thinking by your complaints.”

  “I don’t think you’d be able to resist my dashing good looks that long,” Eric said. “Besides, I’ve said many times we should just go to the Justice of the Peace…”

  Joyce gave him a look that would have combusted a gorgon.

  “Right, Buck Rogers, because you’ve got a space ship for us to escape both of our mothers parked out in your barn. Or were you planning on sailing to Berlin for our honeymoon so someone could collect on that alleged bounty on your head?” Joyce continued, then switched to a mock German accent. “Ja, Herr Cobb, vee will make your death quick and painless.”

  Eric searched Joyce’s face to see if she was joking, then realized that there was more than a little edge in her voice.

  “It’s just…I want to start the rest of our life together now, not on our mothers’ schedules.”

  “Then why don’t you take Secretary Knox up on his offer to let you out of your commitment then?” Joyce asked hopefully. “Father could probably find you a job at one of the steel mills, or you could go back to school to be a lawyer…”

  “Yes, I could,” Eric replied. “But what kind of man would I be to cheat my country like that?”

  “A sane one?” Joyce replied incredulously. “You can’t tell me or anyone else what happened, but father says if the Germans ever catch you, they will shoot you.”

  “Your brother just volunteered for flight training!” Eric snapped back, then instantly regretted it Joyce’s face went pale with rage.

  “Yes, and do you think just maybe he’s finding a spectacular way to commit suicide thanks to a certain person fleeing to Hawaii?” Joyce screamed. “Which you seem to just want to ignore every time it comes up!”

  Why does she keep mentioning that? Eric thought as he took a deep breath.

  “I will not have you screeching at me, Joyce,” Eric said slowly. “That’s not acceptable.”

  Joyce opened her mouth, then stopped as she saw the look on Eric’s face.

  “Well, I see that having things your own way remains a Cobb family trait,” she observed icily. “What if I think screeching at you is perfectly, as you say, acceptable?”

  “Then I would wonder if the woman I loved was driven away by my sister hurting her brother or me disappearing for two weeks,” Eric said flatly.

  Joyce’s face fell, her eyes starting to well with tears.

  “Get out,” she sobbed.

  “You can’t just…”

  “I said, get out!” Joyce said, pushing back from the table. Turning from him, she stalked back towards her bedroom, her shoulders shaking with sobs as she went. A few moments later Eric heard the door slam from upstairs.

  Well that could have gone better, he thought to himself. After cleaning up the kitchen, he followed Joyce’s orders.

  Twenty dusty minutes later found him standing in front of the Cobb family’s home. A gleaming white two-story, the house was at the end of a long double lane of cedar and maple trees. A squirrel ran up one of the latter and chattered at him from one of the lower branches. Eric favored the animal with a glare.

  “You know, I can shoot you,” he said hotly. “I’ll even wear you like a hat as a warning to the others.”

  “Your mother would never forgive you,” his father said from behind him, causing Eric to jump and the elder Cobb to start laughing.

  “So what has you so distracted your old man was able to sneak up on you like a ghost while you were threatening your mother’s squirrels with haberdashery?” Samuel Cobb asked. The Cobb family patriarch looked like a slightly older and heavier version of his eldest sons, from the bear-like physique to the mischievous blue eyes. While a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and worry lines made telling the three men apart quite easy up close, they were easily confused from a distance.

  “Nothing,” Eric replied uneasily, unable to meet his father’s eyes as he fibbed.

  Samuel shrugged.

  “Well I hope you’re better at cleaning up than you are at lying, because unless my nose deceives me Joyce was really happy to see you.”

  Eric looked at his father, feeling a warm blush rise to his cheeks.

  “What? The eyesight goes as you get older so something has to make up for it,” Samuel replied, holding his hands up in innocence. “Now you’d better hope your mother isn’t outside because the wind’s blowing from behind us, and if there’s one smell a woman can detect from five miles away it’s another woman’s perfume.”

  Eric sniffed himself.

  “Does it really smell that strong?!” he asked, horrified.

  Samuel looked at his son and shook his head.

  “Actually, no, I can’t smell a thing—but you sure do look guilty now.”

  “Dad!” Eric replied, aghast.

  “You must be a joy to play cards with, son,” Samuel said, shaking his head.

  “There’s a reason I stopped playing with Nick, Sam, and David,” Eric replied heatedly.

  “So why the long face? I know it’s not because Joyce is pregnant…y
et.”

  “You know, you’re enjoying us all being grown up a little too much,” Eric said, shaking his head.

  “Well I thought once I got your sister out of the house…” Samuel said wistfully.

  Eric felt his face scowl before he caught himself.

  “Ah. I take it the lovely Miss Cotner is a bit upset with Toots?”

  “You could say that,” Eric replied quietly.

  “Tell me, son, do you really think Beau would have been able to handle Toots?” Samuel asked.

  “What?”

  “Seriously. Beau’s a good man, may possibly even be a great one—but I think he wanted to marry Toots more out of a sense of that’s what his mother told him to do than actually loving your sister. She ran circles around him in more ways than one,” Samuel observed.

  Eric looked askance at his father.

  “I thought you liked Beau, Dad?” Eric said, shocked.

  “I think of Beau like another son, Eric, you know that,” Samuel replied with a heavy voice. “I now Toots hurt him desperately, and I worry about him going off to flight school with that pain.”

  “But?”

  “Your sister is a strong woman just like her mother,” Samuel continued. “Your mother’s a handful and despite twenty-eight years I’ve never been under any illusions as to which one of us was smarter, law degree or no.”

  The depth of emotion in Samuel’s voice made Eric smile, which in turn made Samuel get a sheepish look on his face.

  “So, father, what do you think of Joyce and I?” Eric asked with raised eyebrow. Samuel’s smile only dimmed a slight amount.

  “That you guys love each other enough that you shouldn’t have to rush into marriage because there’s a baby on the way?”

  “Oh no, that’s never happened in this family before,” Eric observed.

  “Yes, and your grandfather never forgave me until he died. You want to give Theodore and Elma more reasons to hate us?”