by M. L. Maki
ROCKS AND SHOALS
Book 5 of
THE FIGHTING TOMCATS
BY M. L. Maki
ROSE HILL PRESS, OLYMPIA, WASHINGTON
Rocks and Shoals
Book 5 of The Fighting Tomcat Series
First Edition
©2021 by Sofia R. Maki and Megan L. Maki
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, any information storage and retrieval system, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Rocks and Shoals is a work of historical fiction and speculation using well-known historical and public figures. All incidents and dialogue are products of the authors imagination and are not to be construed as real. Because of the speculative nature of this work, we have changed some timelines of the present, such as the fact that the aircraft carrier battlegroup depicted in this book has never existed. Also, we have changed the historical timeline in the present to suit the nature of the work. Any resemblance to persons living or dead who are not historical figures is entirely coincidental.The views presented are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the views of the DoD or the United States Navy.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
We would like to thank everyone who contributed advice and help on this project. Without your kind help, it would never have happened. We especially want to thank our beta readers, Penny Sevedge, ETNC(SW) Scott M. Richardson, and Lt. Liz Petrea.
DEDICATION
To the Rosie’s who, made all the equipment the fighting forces desperately needed to oppose fascism and tyranny across the globe. And, also, to the courageous women of the WASPs, WAFs, WFTD’s, and OSS who fought the war. They struggled for equality in the work force while they struggled to win a war. That struggle continues.
Thank you.
CONTENTS
Copyright
Acknowledgement
Dedication
Contents
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Notes
Glossary
Copyright
About the authors
I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do. I am free, no matter what rules surround me. If I find them tolerable, I tolerate them; if I find them too obnoxious, I break them. I am free because I know that I alone am morally responsible for everything I do.
Robert A. Heinlein
Forces beyond your control can take away everything you possess except one thing, your freedom to choose how you will respond to the situation. You cannot control what happens to you in life, but you can always control what you will feel and do about what happens to you.
Viktor E. Frankl
CHAPTER 1
MAINTENANCE HANGER, RAF KENLEY, UK
1648, 8 October, 1942
Commodore Samantha “Spike” Hunt walks away from the celebration and out of the hanger. Her Chief of Staff, Lt. Colonel Peter Andrews, USMC, joins her, “Eisenhower sends his congratulations. He said, ‘Your execution of the Second Battle of Britain will be studied forever. The defeat of Rommel must be attributed largely to you and your superb command.’”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“They’re wrapping up and processing the Germans on the outskirts of London. Lieutenant Grant has accepted the surrender of the 8th Panzer Division in northern England. Reports are the English people themselves are rounding up Germans throughout central and northern England. We won the battle, but it’s a huge fucking mess.”
Walking up to her jeep, Hunt smiles at her yeoman, YNC James ‘Radar’ Cooper who is behind the wheel. “Back seat, Radar.” He moves to the backseat and she slides behind the wheel. Andrew gets into the passenger seat. “Got it. I need you to set up a meeting with all the squadron commanders, not just the fighter guys. Then, I need a meeting with Eisenhower, Eaker, Dowding, and Harris.” She pulls out and heads to the control tower.
Andrews, “Are we going to have a stand down? You could use the break.”
Hunt, “And give the Germans time to regroup? No. Individual units will get breaks, and our guys have earned some down time, but we need to strike France and Germany today.”
“I thought we were going home?”
“We are. But first we have to turn over. That will take some time.”
“Roger that. One other thing. The San Francisco made it out of the Baltic.”
She pulls into to her spot in front of the control building disguised as a water tower. “Thank you.” She and Andrews get out and head in. When she gets to the control room, she studies the map and radar repeater.
A female RAF Flight Officer says, “Rook flight 3 is north east of Scotland and circling back. Beefeater flight 3 is completing a second fighter sweep south of Portsmouth. Iron Eagle flight 1 has landed. Flight 2 is orbiting over Milton Keyes and dealing with an SS unit that is still resisting. The 82nd Airborne helicoptered a company to assist the locals there. Rusty flight 2 is sweeping north of London looking for stragglers.”
“Thank you, Flight Officer.”
Cooper walks in with a cup of tea and two sandwiches. “Spike, eat.” She smiles and takes a sandwich.
Mouth full of chicken sandwich, she hears, “President Roosevelt on line 2.”
She swallows some hot tea, trying to wash the food down. “Damn.” She picks up the phone, “Yes, sir?”
“Congratulations, Commodore. Congratulations and thank you.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope you understand it was a team effort. My people, the British, and the US Army, sir, they all got it done.”
“I quite agree. They will each be awarded appropriately. I’ll trust you and your people to handle that. To think that Rommel surrendered to a parade of aircraft that did not drop one bomb.”
“Sir, Rommel is an intelligent commander. He knew RAF Ouston fell. He also knew that the aerial resources he needed from France were not coming. With our show of force, he understood his battle was doomed.”
Her four F/A-14 squadron commanders, CDR Stephan ‘Swede’ Swedenborg, CDR Frank ‘Thud’ Jackson, CDR Norman ‘Oyster’ Osterman, and CDR John ‘Marshall’ Dillon walk into control. She looks up, still listening to the President. “Still, he could have continued fighting.”
“Yes, sir. But, had he done so, many, many more of his men would have died and they still would not have taken London.”
“I do believe you are correct. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”
“I as well, sir. May I make a
request?”
“Of course.”
“Three small British villages near RAF Kenley chose to send the fire brigades to save the base during the firestorm. Their villages were severely damaged. Their names are Old Coulsdon, Whyteleafe, and Warlingham. We need a special acknowledgement of their sacrifice and I would like to help them rebuild.”
“I will be speaking to the American people today. This is the kind of personal sacrifice they would like to know about. How do you spell their names?” She spells them out. “Thank you very much, Commodore. Do take care. You are now a precious national asset.”
“I am one person among many, sir.”
“Yes, yes. I quite understand. Thank you, again.” He hangs up and she sits back in her chair.
Swede, commander of the Black Knights, “Who was that?”
“Roosevelt. He called me a precious national asset.”
Thud, CO of the White Knights, “That’s weird.”
Hunt, “It’s disquieting.” She takes a breath, “I need to see all the warthog squadron commanders, too.”
Andrews on the phone, “I’m making that happen.”
“Thank you.”
“Commodore, Churchill on one.”
“Thank you.” She picks up the phone, “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Yes, indeed, it is a good afternoon. On behalf of His Majesty, King George the 6th, we would like to thank you for your exceptional and steadfast leadership during this most critical national emergency.”
Hunt, “Thank you, sir. None of it would have been remotely possible without the skill and determination of the British forces and the Allied armies. We all did our bit.”
“Yes. But, your units, the achievements of your units, are truly unique and will stand through history. My nation owes a debt of gratitude that nothing can repay.”
“Thank you, sir. I would like to single out three villages around RAF Kenley. Their names are Old Coulsdon, Whyteleafe, and Warlingham. They sent their fire brigades to defend the base at the cost of their own homes. Without the help of those three villages, Kenley would have been lost.”
“I’ve written them down for recognition. Thank you for that, and thank you, again.”
“You’re quite welcome, sir.”
“Good day, Commodore, and God bless.” He hangs up the phone.
She puts the phone on its cradle, “That was Churchill. Guys, I need your ideas on a bombing campaign against the Germans. Thank you.” She finishes her sandwiches and sips the last of her tea. Then she gets up and walks out.
Thud, “You okay?”
She just nods. Sam walks to her room and lays down on her bed. “What the fuck? Here we go again. Back at it.” She stares at the ceiling. “We have to get back out there, whatever the cost. It’s the only way to win this thing. My instincts say hit them and hit them hard and now. A decisive blow could cripple them in such a way that they could not recover. I hate it. I fucking hate it, but we have to go.” She gets up, “Clausewitz, you are a bastard.”
SENATOR RUSSELL’S OFFICE, WASHINGTON, DC
1234, 8 October, 1942
Senator Russell leans back in his chair smoking a cigar, “So, they’re crediting the bitch with the victory.”
Quincy Diggs, Russell’s chief of staff, smiles, “She must be very full of herself. You know, they want to put her up for captain.”
Russell’s face looks like he just bit into a lemon, “Yes, I heard. Elevating women will be the end of our society. The proper place for a woman is at home, tending to her children, and being a good wife.”
“Sir, thus far no female officers have been promoted to captain. If I tell Knox and King we have the votes to shoot down the entire promotion list if a woman’s name is on it, they won’t dare put her in.”
“Do we have the votes?”
Diggs grins, “A lot of the members are disgusted with the equality laws Roosevelt crammed through. I pretty sure I can get you those votes. It’s all in how I spin it, sir.”
“Good. Do so. Oh, and don’t worry about the equality laws. There are already court cases being filed against them. The Stone court will strike the laws down after the war. If we can keep women out of positions of power, it’ll make it that much easier.”
“Yes, sir. You know the worst day in our nation’s history was not December 7th, sir. It was the day women got the vote.”
NAVY YARD, WASHINGTON, DC
US Army Major Hugh Pettigrew is ushered into Vice Admiral Richard ‘Dixie’ Lee’s office. Lee, “How might I help you, Major?”
“Major Pettigrew, sir. I was sent over by the War Finance Committee. We’re ready to start our war bond tour with Commodore Hunt.”
Lee shakes his head, then sits back and steeples his hands. “She hasn’t turned over her command yet. You understand that she holds Commodore positionally. Once she turns over, she will revert to commander, unless promoted.”
The Major studies Lee, “That’s a Navy issue. The people want and deserve to see their hero. We want to start before the fall weather gets too bad.”
Lee, “What’s your plan?”
“First a tour with her aircraft. She’ll fly a demonstration over an airfield, then land and meet the people.”
“So, you want her for a couple of weeks?”
“We’re planning large gatherings, factory tours, theater and stadium events. The campaign should last two years.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But the people deserve to see her.”
Lee, “First, are you cancelling her home leave when she returns from England? Her command has been authorized a full thirty days.”
The Major looks down, then up at Lee, “We can work with that. You realize the tour should count as rest time?”
“No, it doesn’t and won’t be. Also, you cannot have her for two years. That is absolutely impossible. I know the President wants this, but I decide how long. No.”
“But, why, sir?”
“Because she’s a war fighter, and we still have a lot of war to fight.”
“But sir, she’s a girl? Hasn’t she done enough?”
Lee, “No. She’s a war fighter. Being sidelined for this campaign will be hard on her. The Hill is shoving this fucking thing down my throat and I will relent for one month. You can have her service for one month. Not a day long.”
“Sir, we could accept six months. Not less.”
Lee, “Major, are you confusing this as a negotiation? It is not. One month. Not a day more.”
“Yes, sir.”
COMMODORE’S CONFERENCE ROOM, RAF KENLEY, UK
Fourteen squadron commanders are seated at the table, Hunt at the head. CDR Marshall, of the Red Cocks, “You should take a break. We kicked their ass.”
Hunt, “No. The war isn’t over. Right now is the time to hit them. I want the fighter squadrons to keep four birds on cap and four on ready five.” She looks at LCDR Mike ‘Too Tall’ Mohr, commander of Magic, “Too Tall, we need a plan to wild weasel them.”
Swede, “What are you planning?”
Hunt, “Destroy airfields, factories, rail lines. Level the Bremerhaven waterfront. Destroy the sub pens. Wild weasel has to be first. I want the connectors with Germany to be next, then the sub pens. We’ll need bunker busters for that. Repeated hits with thousand pounders won’t do. Also, we need to do a comprehensive recon of France and the low countries.”
Thud, “What about the Atlantic wall?”
Hunt, “We’ll leave that for now.”
Oyster, “Why?”
Hunt, “Every soldier on the line must be fed and equipped. I want to create an iron wall separating France and the low countries from Germany. Destroy their logistics lines. Every airfield. Every rail line. Every bridge. Reduce them to a Ho Chi Minh trail.
“In time, we’ll own the skies. Then we can refuel over France and spend more time over Germany. We ignore the factories until we have most of them mapped out, then we hammer them. Priority has to be aviation and missile constru
ction. When we do land in France, the sky will be ours.