On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  “I wish we had struck back in ’41, sir,” Rear Admiral Kusaka said, moving up beside him.

  “A few more hours of warning is more than balanced by the new aircraft,” Yamaguchi replied with a sigh. “I doubt we would have succeeded as well as we had wished two years ago, plus the British would have been much more of a problem.”

  Kusaka grunted at that, bringing a smirk to Yamaguchi’s face.

  Yet they say that I am far too aggressive, the Kido Butai’s commander thought.

  “Sir, we have recovered all fighters,” the Akagi’s XO informed him.

  “Thank you, Commander,” Yamaguchi said, dismissing the man. The commander had barely left the hatchway before another officer was stepping through. Captain Tomeo Kaku had been captain of the Hiryu, Yamaguchi’s former flagship. The man had come out of command the previous January, and Yamaguchi had immediately offered him a post as his intelligence officer.

  I did not realize how much he and Kusaka would fight, Yamaguchi thought, looking as his chief of staff’s brow furrowed.

  “We have the final code report from the Honolulu consulate,” Kaku said. “The Maryland and Colorado returned from the West Coast last night. This brings the American strength to nine battleships.”

  Arizona, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, California, Colorado, Maryland, West Virginia, Nevada, and Oklahoma, Yamaguchi thought. I was hoping that they would lose at least one more to the Atlantic, but it is not to be.

  “The carriers?” Yamaguchi asked.

  “Lexington has returned from Wake Island, Enterprise has been confirmed off Victoria Island with the British Victorious, Saratoga has just left dry dock, but the consulate does not know where Yorktown is,” Kaku said. “Hornet has transited the Panama Canal but was allegedly en route to San Diego according to intelligence.”

  Yamaguchi took a deep breath then released it.

  Four enemy carriers and I do not know where two of them are, he thought.

  “Very well, we will remain with our plan for minimal CAP,” Yamaguchi said, feeling as if he was shoving all of his chips into a colossal craps bet. “Inform the Tone that her reconnaissance will focus on finding the carriers between the first and second waves. We can outrun the battleships, but I cannot outrun the American aircraft.”

  U.S.S. Hornet

  650 Miles East of Hawaii

  1930 Local (0030 Eastern)

  Eric stood on the front of the Hornet’s flight deck in his service khakis and stared into the sunset. The Hornet was heading west at a steady twenty knots, the breeze refreshing in his face. Behind him, the deck was a quiet place, the last of Air Group Eight having just been struck below.

  I love this time of day, Eric thought. It’s so peaceful. The United States Navy usually didn’t conduct night operations, although scuttlebutt had it that the Enterprise and Victorious were starting to conduct experiments off of Bremerton. That thought made Eric shudder.

  Dive bombing is dangerous enough as is, Eric thought. I sure as hell don’t want to try that at night.

  “Stare long enough into that sun you’re going to go blind, Lieutenant Cobb,” a deep, gravelly voice said from behind him. Eric turned to see Lieutenant Commander Palmer Couch, the commander of VB-8, walking up the wood deck behind him. Shorter than Eric, Couch still retained the sinewy build of the collegiate wrestler he had once been. His black hair had started to get some pepper in it, but with very few lines around his green eyes and a youthful looking face, Couch could have easily passed for being Eric’s contemporary rather than a man who’d held his commission since 1925.

  “Just like to remind myself there’s more to the world than gray bulkheads, sir,” Eric replied.

  “Yeah, I can understand that,” Couch replied, standing in the breeze. The two men stood in silence for a few minutes until the senior officer spoke.

  “I’m not one to give advice on what an officer does with his personal time,” Couch said. “But you could spend more time with your squadron mates. It’s been noticed that you tend to hold yourself apart from your peers.”

  “Sorry sir,” Eric said evenly. “It’s been a bit of a rough few months.”

  “I think everyone on board realizes that’s the case, Lieutenant Cobb,” Couch replied, then held up his hand as Eric was about to respond. “No one is thinking you’re holding yourself up as somehow better than everyone else, just so we’re clear. It’s that you’ve been aboard for four weeks and most folks don’t know anything beyond what they’ve seen in the papers or heard on the radio.”

  I never wanted to be a celebrity, Eric thought bitterly. That hasn’t helped me want to talk to other people.

  “Sir, being honest, I fully expected to be in my second month of law school with a new wife at this point,” Eric said bitterly. “I was not aware it’s colored my actions as much as it apparently has, but that has taken some time to get used to.”

  Couch raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “You sure you wanted to be a lawyer? You seem to take to dive bombing very well,” Couch replied.

  Fat lot of good skill did Lieutenant Commander Cobleigh, Eric thought grimly.

  “I think the refresher course helped with that,” Eric said, referring to the three weeks he’d spent getting recertified on the Dauntless. “I’m still surprised that Admiral Kimmel has been rotating so many pilots through the school.”

  Couch nodded knowingly, having gone through the school just before taking over VB-8 five months before.

  “The torpecker pilots can talk about being the Sunday Punch all they want,” Couch said, referring to VT-8, Hornet’s torpedo squadron. “Everyone knows you have to land jabs to make the punch count, and even with those new turkeys of theirs they’re going to have trouble hitting anything we don’t cripple.”

  Eric smiled beside himself. There was a friendly rivalry between the dive bomber and torpedo pilots, with the latter often pointing you sank ships quicker by letting water in than blowing air out.

  “Sir, I’m pretty sure if we start laying thousand pounders on something, the torpedoes might just be speeding up the process,” Eric observed. Couch looked at him speculatively.

  “We just might at that,” Couch replied. “So how is your fiancée taking the abrupt career change.”

  Eric closed his eyes.

  “My former fiancée decided she’d rather find someone who did something nice and safe,” Eric said. “Judging from my mother’s last letter, that hasn’t gone so well given how we parted.”

  “How you parted?” Couch asked.

  “Let’s just say that Mobile has a very small social circle,” Eric replied wearily. “In case you’ve never heard, Russians are a vengeful people.”

  “I’m not sure I follow, Lieutenant Cobb?” Couch said, his face puzzled.

  “Well sir, let me explain about the Duchess,” Eric replied with a smile.

  CHAPTER 6: PREAMBLE

  Wise men learn by other’s mistakes, fools by their own.—Henry George Bohn

  Pensacola NAS

  0545 Eastern

  26 March 1943

  The phone was ringing at an ungodly hour, and it made Adam’s head reverberate like a church bell that had been struck by a clapper.

  Note to self—never drink with a man who has been through skin grafts, Adam thought. To think I’d believed I’d stopped early enough to avoid a hangover.

  “This had better be someone telling me the Germans are off the coast,” Adam muttered. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone.

  “Major Haynes,” he said, surprised at how clear he managed to sound.

  “Major Haynes, this is Major Anthony,” the voice on the other end began.

  Oh shit, Adam thought. Anthony was the adjutant of Marine Aircraft Wing Two (MAW-2), and if he was on the phone it would appear as if Bowles had already gone whining to the Air Group commander.

  “Good morning Major Anthony,” Adam responded with obviously faux pleasantry. “I’m guessing that you’re not calling to tell me world
peace has broken out.”

  “Colonel Gatling has ordered that you report to his office no later than 0645.” Anthony paused, then said in a lower tone, “I’d bring a good reason why you relieved all three of your division leaders without his permission.”

  “Understood. I will be in his office in less than one hour,” Adam said resignedly.

  Why am I no longer surprised at some people’s anal retentiveness? Adam thought.

  “Thank you. Sorry to wake you up so early,” Anthony replied, then hung up.

  He sounded genuinely apologetic, Adam thought. Must be an adjutant trait to be able to lie so easily. Hanging up the phone, Adam sat up in bed to find Connor standing in the doorway. The scarred officer wore a tattered RAF issue smoker’s robe, a mug of coffee in his hand.

  “How did you guess I’d need that?” Adam asked grimly.

  “What? Bloody idiots are the same in every service,” Connor said, handing him a cup of coffee.

  “I’m just amazed that you’ve been up long enough to make a pot of coffee,” Adam replied.

  “Well, it’s not like you and your squadron gave me much of a workout yesterday,” Connor replied, a grim smile on his face.

  Adam just sighed.

  That will teach me to try and match up flights of Wildcats versus Seafires, Adam thought grimly. He’d foolishly rang Connor prior to VMF-21’s second, and last, sortie for the day. In what Adam had thought was a fortuitous occurrence, Connor, Sailor, Stanford, and some guy named Brown had all been open to mixing it up in some mock dogfights.

  In addition to nearly killing themselves, my Marines nearly killed them, Adam thought with a resigned sigh. I thought that bastard Major Hendry had been unfortunate before. Now I think he deserved exactly what happened to him, and it’s too bad his wingman’s prop probably killed him instantly.

  “You’re thinking ill thoughts about the dead again, aren’t you?” Connor said with a smile as the two of them moved to the kitchen.

  “I prefer truthful,” Adam replied, his tone annoyed. “I hope that stupid bastard is roasting in Hell, because odds are he’s going to get several of his pilots sent there if we have to go to war tomorrow.”

  The cuckoo clock in the front foyer sounded.

  I guess I better go in there and get my ass chewing,” Adam noted.

  “Is it going to change anything you do?” Connor asked.

  “After yesterday I was going to try Bowles and his friends out back in their old jobs anyway,” Adam replied. “But now? That little son-of-a-bitch might have just bought himself another two weeks as a wingman.”

  Thirty-five minutes later, he found himself entering Major Anthony’s office.

  Sometimes arriving early helps to seize the initiative, Adam thought with an inner smile as the adjutant looked up in surprise. Even if the senior officer was intending to make you wait anyway, now whatever schedule he had in place is slightly disjointed.

  Recollecting himself, Major Anthony smiled a mischievous smile, as if he knew something Adam didn’t. Before Adam could say anything, the adjutant sprung to his feet and opened the door to Colonel Gatling’s office. Looking past Major Anthony, Adam felt his temper starting to flare as he saw who else was sitting in the seat directly in front of Gatling’s desk.

  Well, well, well Captain Bowles, decided to take your case directly to the man, did you? I don’t think you have any idea how much you’re going to regret that later, Adam thought fiercely as the younger officer gave him a smug grin. Oh no, you have not got a clue.

  “Sir, Major Haynes is present,” Anthony said. Gatling was also surprised to see Adam. Looking him dead in the eye then pointedly looking away, he turned to Anthony.

  “Have the Major wait until I am done hearing testimony from the good captain here,” Gatling stated pompously. Anthony nodded, then closed the door. Looking at his face, Adam could see that he was not impressed by the way that his boss was acting.

  “Colonel Gatling is trying to ride our fair-haired boy to that first star, is he?” Adam asked levelly, instantly wishing he hadn’t let those be the first words from his mouth. Anthony’s face immediately became impassive, every inch the professional officer.

  “Captain Bowles is simply taking advantage of every officer’s right to use the chain-of-command,” the adjutant stated quietly. After a moment’s pause, he stated, “The fact that his father is an admiral should not have any bearing on this case.” It is unfortunate it does, hung in the air unsaid.

  “Apparently boy wonder did not learn anything from being hustled out of Hawaii,” Adam said lowly. “What exactly is he trying to state I did wrong?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Violation of a direct order, conduct unbecoming an officer, and reckless endangerment of your men,” Anthony replied, keeping his voice low so that he could not be heard in the office. “Hopefully, Gatling’s just going to take you down a peg. Unfortunately, I think he’s actually angry enough to think about relieving you.”

  Adam smiled and pulled out a sheet of paper, causing Anthony’s eyes to narrow.

  You’ve probably thought I’ve lost my mind, Adam thought with smile. No one should be happy going before the old man. Too bad for him that I’ve got a hole card.

  “Major Haynes, report!” Colonel Gatling shouted from in the office before Adam could respond to his junior officer. Adam felt Anthony look at him in surprise.

  Oh, I know how insulting asking me to report in front of a subordinate is, Adam thought, clearing his expression. Bowles is going to wish he was never born later today. He’d actually better pray that we never go to combat, as at this point I might gun him down myself.

  “Enter!” Gatling roared. Adam reached for the door knob and pushed forward, entering and stopping exactly three steps forward of Gatling’s desk. He brought his hand up and snapped a salute.

  “Major Haynes reporting as ordered,” Adam stated, holding his salute. Gatling remained standing behind his desk, looking over Adam’s uniform for any excuse to tear into him. Finally, he returned the salute.

  “Explain to me why you should not be relieved, Major Haynes,” Gatling said snidely. “I mean, I guess you must believe that being a worthless mercenary and son of some rich bastard gives you the right to do whatever the hell you want.”

  Oh hell no, you will not talk to me like that, Adam seethed.

  “Sir, with all due respect, if you call my father a bastard again I will injure you,” Adam said lowly and menacingly. He heard Bowles sharp intake of breath behind him, then the sound of the captain’s tittering laughter.

  “Sir, I will be happy to testify against Major Haynes at his general court martial for threatening a superior officer,” Bowles said snidely.

  “Shut up until spoken to, pilot!” Haynes barked. Bowles, looking every bit like the petulant child, turned to him and laughed in his face.

  “That is enough, Captain,” Gatling snapped. Bowles turned and locked eyes with the colonel. Adam looked on with interest, waiting to see who would break first.

  “There can be more than one court martial, Captain,” Gatling said, his voice full of ice. “I suggest that you remember your father is an ocean away, and I can have you sharing a brig cell with Major Haynes before either of you have an opportunity to make a single phone call.”

  Bowles snapped back to attention, realizing that he had pressed his luck too far.

  “As for you, Major, do not ever threaten me again,” Gatling snapped. “You have two hours to return and receive your orders from Major Anthony and comply with your transfer. Do I make myself clear?”

  “No, sir, you do not. I would advise that the colonel read the letter I have here prior to relieving me,” Adam said, holding up the piece of paper.

  “Personally, unless that’s from the Commandant himself, I don’t care what it says,” Gatling said, waving his hand away.

  “Yes, sir,” Adam said.

  I gave you your chance, you pompous ass, Adam thought grimly.

  “Dismisse
d,” Gatling said, waving Adam away. “Captain Bowles, report to your squadron and inform them that you are now acting commander.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bowles said. Adam executed a sharp about face and exited the office, followed by Bowles. As soon as the door click shut behind the junior officer, Adam whirled on him, his face inches from Bowles’.

  “I hope that you gained some small delight from that, Captain,” Adam seethed lowly. “Because I assure you that you have made a mistake beyond your imagination.”

  Bowles’ face worked as the younger man tried to keep from laughing in Adam’s face.

  “Sir, this isn’t England, and quite frankly I think it’s about time someone broke that fact to you,” the captain smirked. “I hope you enjoy your next assignment, I’m sure it will be somewhere far from any fighting squadron. Speaking of which, I need to go train my men.”

  With the last, Bowles pushed past Adam.

  All good things come to those who wait, Adam thought, stopping himself from punching the man dead in his face.

  “I should have your orders ready for you by eight thirty,” Anthony said from behind his desk. “As soon as I get the old man to tell me where you’re going.”

  “Actually, I’ll save you some ink. Let me use your phone.” Anthony looked at him with puzzlement, than handed Adam the receiver.

  “Yes, operator, put me through to Major General Geiger’s office. Please tell him it is Major Haynes calling. Thank you,” he said. Anthony’s face snapped up in surprise and shock. Adam favored him with a grin.

  “The man said unless the letter was from the Commandant himself,” Adam noted to Anthony, then stopped as he heard a gruff, familiar male voice identify himself as the head of Marine Corps Aviation.

  “Good morning, sir, this is Major Haynes,” Adam began, then stopped. “Yes sir, precisely as you predicted. Yes sir, he’s in his office right now. Yes, sir, Major Anthony is here.”

  With that, Adam turned to the adjutant.

  “Major General Geiger for you,” Adam said simply.

  “Sir, Major Anthony,” Anthony said. Adam watched the man’s face drain of color as he listened to Major General Geiger. After a couple more acknowledgments, the adjutant hung up the phone. A few moments later, the phone rang on the other side of the office door. Anthony looked up in awe at Adam.