On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  Beau made a show of zippering his lips.

  “Sealed, my friend. Sealed.”

  “If you boys are done being antisocial, dinner’s ready!” Alma called sharply from the back porch. “Hurry up so we can eat before the President’s Fireside Chat!”

  “Also known as ‘Franklin Explains Why He Got His Hide Tanned,’” Beau said with a grin.

  “You are aware he’s your boss now, right?” Eric observed with a matching smile.

  “Yes, but probably not in another two years at this rate,” Beau replied as they reached the back porch. “I can understand losing the House, but the Senate too? Goodbye New Deal.”

  “I think now is a good time to remind both of you of the house rules,” Alma said, giving the two young men matching glares.

  “Yes Mom, we know, no politics until after dinner,” Eric said. Moving quickly, he wrapped his Mom in a hug, causing her to sputter on whatever she was about to say.

  “Love you, Mom,” he said lowly. “Sorry about running out on you.”

  Alma wrapped her arms around him in return.

  “I’m not going without pork chops for you either, young man,” she sighed, gripping him tightly.

  “So I’ve been told,” Eric replied. He felt Alma stiffen slightly as Beau continued inside.

  “You must think me a horrible person,” Alma said evenly after a moment.

  “No, just human,” Eric replied simply. “Come on, we have dinner to eat.”

  Almost two hours later, with the dishes cleared off and peach cobbler consumed, Eric sat down heavily in the Cobb family’s living room. Tan walls and a finished floor gave the room a very earthy appearance, and four easy chairs and two recliners all finished in brown contributed to the atmosphere. A pair of glass tables and matching glass end tables near the recliners were the only things that were not dirt or tan colored in the room, and the three lamps provided just enough light to see faces without being blinding.

  It’s like a small den or rabbit warren, Eric thought, just before a gust of cool air came in through the screened windows. Minus the airflow, of course.

  “Here’s everyone’s ashtrays,” Samuel said, handing out the circular pottery pieces.

  You know Mom and Dad love you when they let you smoke in their house, Eric thought wryly.

  “Thank you, Samuel,” Theodore Cotner said, taking a receptacle to share with Beau. The elder Cotner was clearly responsible for his son’s looks, minus a large pug nose that made his appearance average at best. The man wore a gray sporting jacket that concealed his slight paunch, but his fleshy features and balding, graying dark blonde hair.

  “Thank you, Samuel, for condoning our imposition once again,” the room’s only female occupant, Anna Deakyne said with a smile.

  Well after almost twenty years the “Duchess” is finally losing her accent, Eric thought with a smile of his own. Anna Deakyne, nee Borislava, was the widow of the late Commander Winston Deakyne, USN, retired. While Eric remained somewhat unclear as to just how Anna had ended up in Alabama, he did know that Commander Deakyne and his wife had met when the former was assigned to a destroyer in the Black Sea. Rumors of her being White Russian royalty had led to her nickname, while her continued ownership of two textile mills explained why the men in the room treated her as an equal.

  “Never an imposition, Duchess,” Samuel replied to the short, slender blonde woman.

  If Mom and her weren’t such good friends or if Dad wasn’t so madly in love after all these years I’d wonder about those two, Eric thought for the umpteenth time. His father had helped Anna navigate the intricacies of probate court, as well as fend off unscrupulous competitors attempts to steal her plants right out from under her. In the process, the widow Deakyne had adopted all of the Cobb children, to the point where all of them had learned conversational Ukrainian and Russian.

  Not sure Mom was pleased about us all being able to talk without her understanding us, but that’s water under the bridge.

  “I wish they’d get past these commercials and get to the President,” Theodore said impatiently.

  “Probably some production problems in the studio,” Eric said, listening to the radio’s pop, whistles, and crackles. “Sounds like when a carrier has a problem with its antenna.”

  Beau nodded knowingly, but Eric could see that his comment had confused everyone else. He was about to explain when the familiar voice of Franklin Delano Roosevelt came through the speakers.

  “Finally!” Eric heard his mother exclaim from the kitchen.

  “My fellow Americans, thank you for allowing me into your home this evening,” President Roosevelt began. “This has been a momentous year, and there is a great deal our nation has to thank the Almighty for.”

  “Yes, like us not being at war,” Theodore muttered as he puffed on his pipe.

  “Unlike other places in the world, the United States continues to hold elections,” Roosevelt continued. “The American people spoke on November 3rd, and I respect your decisions. However, I come to you tonight in response to the intemperate statements made by those you have elected, and to illustrate why they are wrong.”

  Oh boy, Beau sure misunderstood how this was going to go, Eric thought. Things are about to get interesting.

  “Senator Taft of Ohio has accused my administration of wanting to involve this nation in European affairs, and has declared that he will ensure that your sons will not be called upon to die to, and I quote, ‘return some princess to her father’s throne,’” President Roosevelt went on, his tone indignant. “He is joined by gentlemen such as Mr. Lindbergh, who in his recent speeches has repeated his un-American claim that I am a tool of ‘Jewish interests’ and ‘a British puppet.’ Finally, the Saturday Evening Post claims that I fancy myself an incipient Caesar, who offers this fine Republic nothing but war and entanglements in the interest of gaining power.”

  The president paused for a moment, as if giving his audience a chance to digest his words. Looking around the room, Eric could see skepticism on Theodore’s face, a speculative look on Beau’s, and an inscrutable look on the Duchess’ face.

  “What Senator Taft does not know, or refuses to acknowledge, is that thoughts of raising our ramparts and trusting in our oceans to defend us are a dream that the United States can no longer afford,” Roosevelt said, his tone firm. “As they have shown by their vicious actions against London, Warsaw, and Rotterdam, Nazi Germany has no compunctions about using the forces of terror against innocent women and children to suit their needs.”

  “We will ignore what the British did,” Theodore snapped, drawing a look from Samuel.

  “…that the airplane negates our traditional defenses. As surely as our own scientists and engineers are working on ways to bridge the Atlantic should the need arise, the Germans are designing aircraft to bring the same horror to New York, Philadelphia, and Boston that they delivered to London.”

  Eric had only been to New York once in his life when Samuel had taken Sam, David, and he on a train ride to the great city for Fleet Week. It was hard for him to imagine it burning as the newsreels had shown London.

  Then again, that’s probably what many Englishmen thought before it happened, he mused.

  “Indeed, shortly before I spoke these words, I was informed that the Germans have entered into a lease that gives them basing rights to the Azores, a group of Portuguese islands in the center of the Atlantic,” Roosevelt said evenly. Eric, in the midst of drinking water, aspirated as the shock hit him.

  “You okay son?” Samuel asked as the President continued on to explain why a German base in the Azores was a dagger pointed directly at America.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” Eric croaked. “Just kind of shocking to hear someplace I’ve flown near.”

  “…will allow Himmler’s submarines to prowl our coasts, his aircraft to darken our skies, and his vessels to choke off our trade with other countries. This, my friends, is what allowing Germany time to develop their position in safety will do for us,�
�� Roosevelt finished. There was another gap and the faint sound of rustling papers.

  “Of course, all of this is known to an aviation expert such as Charles Lindbergh,” President Roosevelt said. “I am saddened that such a great man has stooped to such a foul level as to talk about religion, and will give that line of argument no more concern than any of you listening should.”

  Yikes! Eric thought at the clear tone of admonishment in President Roosevelt’s voice.

  “However, the terrible lie of claiming that I am a tool of British interests must be addressed,” President Roosevelt continued. “It is particularly galling coming from a man who still maintains a Luftwaffe medal despite that force’s continued atrocities.”

  I didn’t know Lindbergh had a German medal! Eric thought. Looking across the room, he saw a similar look of shock on Beau’s face…but indifference on that of his father’s and Theodore’s. Guess it must be something that happened when I was too young to care.

  “For those who question the differences between German and English nature, I will simply tell the story of four of our fliers from the carrier Ranger,” Roosevelt said.

  Eric felt his stomach start to drop as every eye in the room turned to him.

  “Flying as part of our Neutrality Patrol, two of our bombers were engaged without warning or provocation by the German fleet. The lead bomber, flown by Lieutenant Commander Abe Cobleigh of Springfield, Illinois, was immediately destroyed by the German barrage.”

  Whereas his stomach had been dropping before, it now began to resemble an Empire State Building elevator whose cables had been cut. Suddenly Eric’s collar was far too tight, and he felt sweat beading on his forehead as the President’s voice took him back to that day.

  “Lieutenant Commander Cobleigh and his gunner left behind two widows and five children who will never grow up with their fathers,” President Roosevelt continued. “The second bomber, flown by Lieutenant junior grade Eric Cobb, was gravely damaged, with both Cobb and his gunner wounded.”

  There was the sound of breaking dishes and a thud from the kitchen.

  Oh shit, Eric thought, as Anna sprang to her feet, waving the men to stay seated.

  “I think Alma can use some assistance,” the Duchess said, her accent thicker as it always grew in times of stress. Eric could see that the woman was pale as a sheet.

  Wait, she didn’t know what happened, he thought with a sudden rush. No one else did, either.

  “…at great risk to themselves plucked this crew from the sea. They then proceeded to take strenuous measures to keep them safe throughout the sea battle that saw the Kriegsmarine murder the King of England.”

  Eric couldn’t help the nervous guffaw that came out of his mouth at that statement, the sound causing the other men in the room to jump. Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself as they continued to listen.

  “…difference could not be more stark. As long as I am President, the United States’ interests will always align with the nations that aid others rather than attacking them, that provides succor to those in need, and safeguards those who are vulnerable,” Roosevelt said, his cadence steady. “In that same way, we will always oppose those who attack great men such as Lieutenant Commander Cobleigh and Lieutenant Cobb, have the audacity to demand that we turn over our servicemen to them, and are aggressive against our interests.”

  Anna poked her head back through the entryway.

  “Eric, Joyce fainted,” she said, her voice flat. “Alma and Elma request that you walk her home.”

  Eric began to raise, but Samuel held up his hand.

  “I think Joyce can wait a few minutes,” the Cobb patriarch said, his tone quite clear that he wasn’t suggesting as his eyes fixed his son’s. Anna, her face expressionless, nodded, and to Eric’s shock, pulled the door to the living room shut behind her.

  “…expressed her gratitude regarding Lieutenant (j.g.) Cobb to me personally. She stated that she hoped that our nation ‘had many more men that were willing to fight back the tide of Fascism.’ I responded to Her Majesty that America loves freedom and dignity, and this nation will have no problem finding young men like Lieutenant Cobb, as long as this nation’s leaders do not fail them,” Roosevelt began, his voice rising. “It is up to you, my fellow Americans, whether or not those leaders hear your true desire to stop Fascism now rather than having our children do it in their time. I pray to God that this does not come to pass, and I ask you to join me in beseeching the Almighty for intervention in these dark times. Good night to you all.”

  Eric was shocked at how quickly his father moved to turn off the radio. Turning, Samuel fixed his son with a firm glance.

  “You cannot leave the Navy now, you realize that, right?” Samuel asked solemnly.

  “Samuel Cobb, I think it is best that we let our child decide what he is going to do,” Alma said quietly from the doorway. “His future wife should probably have a say in that as well.”

  Eric felt as if the room was closing in on him. Setting his water down with shaking hands, he pushed to his feet.

  “A walk with Joyce alone sounds like a very good plan right now,” Eric said, heat in his words. Without waiting for further comment, he squeezed past his mother and found his Joyce waiting for him by the front door, her mother holding her steady. As Eric approached, Elma released her daughter and stepped back.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Cotner,” Eric said quietly as he took Joyce’s arm. “I think Joyce and I need to go talk for a little bit.”

  “Of course, Eric,” Elma said with a small smile. Eric held the front door open for the ashen Joyce, then passed through himself without looking back. The cool evening air hit him with a bit of a shock.

  Temperature sure dropped during dinner, he thought, shrugging out of his suit jacket to drape it over Joyce in her grey and black print gingham dress. Joyce hardly reacted as he did so, her eyes seemingly fixed on something distant only she could see. The two of them walked for about ten minutes in silence until she finally spoke.

  “How could you keep secrets from me, Eric?” she asked quietly.

  “I was sworn to secrecy by Secretary Knox himself, Joyce,” Eric replied flatly.

  “Well that makes it all better,” Joyce snapped, her voice waspish. “Why here I thought I was the woman you were going to spend the rest of your life with.”

  “I took an oath,” Eric retorted. “You know, that whole raise my right hand and promise to obey the orders of those appointed over me thing?”

  “Well glad to see you take your oaths so seriously,” Joyce spat.

  “For a woman who is expecting me to make several vows to her…”

  Joyce whirled towards him before he could finish.

  “Go to Hell, Eric Cobb,” she sobbed, hitting him hard in the chest. “You go straight to…”

  The rest of her statement was lost in the sound of her sob as Eric wrapped his arms around her. Crying and shaking uncontrollably, Joyce initially tried to shove him away, then dropped her arms helplessly to her side and leaned into his chest.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said, her chest heaving in between words. “I don’t want you to die.”

  “I could die back here, Joyce,” Eric said, then realized he had messed up.

  “So you have decided to go back?” she asked, sniffling.

  “I don’t know,” Eric replied wearily. “I just want the world to stop spinning so I can get off.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible for you anymore, Eric,” Joyce said softly. “The President seems bound and determined to force a fight.”

  “I can’t say that I blame him,” Eric replied. “I can only imagine the Germans with bases that are just a short stretch from New York City.”

  “Has it ever crossed anyone’s mind just to let the Germans mind their own business?” Joyce asked plaintively. “We’re not European, we don’t have to fight them.”

  Eric sighed.

  “No, we don’t have to,” Eric said wearily. “But I think the
President is right in that if my generation doesn’t, any sons we may have will.”

  Joyce looked up at him, her eyes sad.

  “If you live that long,” she said. Taking a deep breath, Joyce stepped out of his embrace and shrugged out of his jacket. Looking at her face, Eric knew what was about to happen.

  “Eric, I can’t do this,” Joyce said. “Your father’s right, you now have no choice about what you want to do. I do, and I choose not to be sitting there waiting every day whether or not I will ever see you again.”

  With that, Joyce slipped the engagement ring off her finger and extended her hand. As he looked at the diamond, Eric felt a strange emptiness.

  “Keep it,” he said.

  “What?” Joyce asked.

  “Keep it,” Eric stated again, his voice empty. “Let it be a reminder of just how steep the price was for your perfect house, safe husband, and kids who are still free.” With that, Eric turned to walk away.

  “I’m sorry, Eric,” Joyce called after him, her voice almost a sob.

  For a moment, Eric considered turning around. But only for a moment.

  IJNS Akagi

  1510 Local (0110 Eastern)

  7 December

  The slaughterhouse smell wafting from the flight deck made Isoro’s mouth water and the contents of his stomach shift in a most unpleasant manner. Listening to Lieutenant Commander Itaya go over what had gone right and wrong during their missions that day was somewhat distracting, but Isoro had to admit fatigue was severely limiting his ability to focus.

  Idiots, Isoro thought unkindly as he looked to where the carrier’s flight deck was being quickly covered with sand. It takes a true moron to run into a still whirling propeller.

  Without warning, one of the warrant officers from the squadron’s first chutai suddenly doubled over and spewed onto the deck. The young man’s vomit had scarcely hit the wooden deck before Lieutenant Fujimoto, Akagi’s newest fighter leader, brought his hand down in a chop across the man’s neck. The unfortunate warrant collapsed in a limp heap, his face ending up in the fluid from his stomach. Muttering a curse, Fujimoto kicked the man over onto his side, then turned and bowed apologetically to Lieutenant Commander Itaya.