ROCKS AND SHOALS

by M. L. Maki

  “Yeah, I heard about the SEALs. Know that all of us are just happy for you. God knows you’ve needed some time off.”

  “We all do. Damn, we have a SAM launch.”

  “See it.” On radio, “SAM launch 290.”

  Spike inverts her jet and dives.

  “Uh, we’re out of bombs and missiles. What are we doing?”

  “I still have the gun.”

  “Boss, don’t you have a lot to live for?”

  “Yes, Lizard, and so does everyone else.” Holding her jet just under the speed of sound, she curves right, studying the terrain around the missile site. Then, she curves left, picking her spot. “Hang on, it’s going to get bumpy.”

  “Roger.”

  Spike dives onto the site at Mach .9. She pulls back on the stick, firing her 20mm, leveling out at two hundred feet, and climbing out. Multiple secondary explosions illuminate the mirror as she soars away. “If we kill every missile site we find, and keep destroying the bridges, eventually the sky will be ours.”

  Breathless, Lizard replies, “You got that right, Spike.”

  CNO’S OFFICE, WASHINGTON, DC

  1415 (1115 GMT), 11 October, 1942

  Admiral King picks up his phone, “King.”

  “Sir, Treasury Secretary Morgenthau, sir.”

  “Put him on the line, please.”

  “Admiral King, I just read that Commodore Hunt flew a successful raid into France.”

  “Yes. They shot down several enemy aircraft and destroyed logistic connections between France and Germany. It was well conceived and executed.”

  “Admiral, if she is injured, killed, or captured, it would be an enormous blow to national morale.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “You need to pull her from combat immediately. We’re ready to start the bond tour when she’s available and Admiral Lee is dragging his feet.”

  “So, Treasury is now directing combat operations?”

  “Of course not. But she’s a national treasure and needs to be protected.”

  “She’s a military officer and needs to do her duty.”

  “Her duty is with my team earning money for the war. Your organization needs enormous funding to prosecute the war. My organization does their very best to provide those funds. It would be helpful for our entire effort to have some cooperation from you.”

  “I see. Please understand, in the interest of continuity of command, these things take time. We’ll make her available as soon as we can.”

  “I expect her to be available immediately once she’s stateside.”

  “You’re denying her leave?”

  “Jesus Christ, Admiral. Will the war wait while she visits her family?”

  “Mr. Morgenthau, we promised all of her team leave. They’ve been in combat continually for months. They all need a break. I would think you would understand that. I’ll discuss this with Admiral Lee and the Secretary.”

  “Admiral Lee cannot see clearly on this. His focus is on his men, not on the bigger picture. I need you to make this happen.”

  “I understand. Good day, Secretary.” He hangs up. “Jesus Christ.” He picks up the phone, “Get Lee in here and get Leahy on the line.” He looks at the painting of the battle between the Constitution and Guerriere on the opposite wall. The phone rings, “King.”

  “Leahy.”

  “Admiral, I just got off the phone with Morgenthau. He’s incensed that Commodore Hunt is still in combat. He seems to think he makes policy on how we conduct this war. He even threatened my budget. I’m regretting agreeing to this tour.”

  “I see. The President wants the tour, so it needs to happen. When is up to you.”

  Less quietly enters King’s office.

  “Another matter. He directed me to deny her leave. She’s earned, and deserves the time off. Also, if we keep throwing her into missions without down time, she’ll burn out. We need her combat effective.”

  Leahy, “I agree. She gets her leave. The President was clear on that. He also wants to see her at the House.”

  King, “I know. That’s in the schedule.”

  “Do we have a schedule?”

  King, “Just a second. Lee, do you have her schedule?” Lee hands over the schedule. “Yes, I have it. I’ll send it over by runner.”

  Leahy, “Thank you. Good day, Admiral.”

  “And to you.” He hangs up. “Thank you, Rick. I just got off the phone with Morgenthau.”

  “Sir, I talked to him yesterday. He gave me the tour list so I could put together her schedule. He tried an end run?”

  “Indeed. Thank you.”

  ADMIRAL KLINDT’S OFFICE, NAVY YARD, WASHINGTON, DC

  1450 (1150 GMT), 11 October, 1942

  Lt. James Maki knocks and walks into Admiral Craig Klindt’s office, “Sir, I’ve briefed in the British Army. They want an initial order of two thousand tanks when it’s done. I’ve a flight to Detroit tonight.”

  “Good. I have a question.” He hands Maki an award recommendation. “The Marine Corps wants to give you a Navy Commendation Medal with a V. What’s this about?”

  “Sir, when I was there, they were desperate. The Germans were closing on London. A wounded British Army sniper gave me his rifle. Well, I was trying to talk him out of killing himself, so I promised I would put his rifle to work.”

  “And?”

  “Sir, I grew up in the country. So, I joined up with a Marine unit and started sniping. I killed some Germans and helped the Marines. I was a little cog in a big machine. They really needed the help. I couldn’t sit around as soldiers died and do nothing. If I was that kind of person, would you have any use for me?”

  “You did fine. Very fine, and you’re correct.” Admiral Klindt stands and pins Maki with Commendation Medal. “Congratulations.” He reaches back to his desk and picks up a pair of gold oak leaves. Smiling, he replaces Maki’s lieutenant’s bars. “Now, Lieutenant Commander, get out to Detroit and build me a tank.”

  Maki smiles, “Thank you, sir.”

  EISENHOWER’S OFFICE

  2010, 11 October, 1942

  Spike smiles, “How do I get permission to fly a cargo plane into Switzerland to repatriate interned servicemen? The Embassy said it can’t be done.”

  Eisenhower, “The Swiss have closed their air space. No aircraft in or out. How could we safely do it?”

  “What I hoped for was permission to use an airfield. We fly a C-57 into Switzerland escorted by fighters, then fly everyone out. Barring that, I can fly a C-130 onto a cow pasture, load them up, and escort it back out. To do it, I need support within Switzerland to gather all the folks and get them to that field. The embassy won’t help.”

  Eisenhower shakes his head, “I take it some of those people are high value?”

  “Yes. A number of them escaped Brandenmeyer after the time event.”

  “If you can figure out a way, let me know.”

  “If I figure out a way, do I have your blessing to do it?”

  “You do.” He smiles, “And this time, give me a chance to commission them. They’re Air Force, after all.”

  Spike grins, “Yes, sir. That was a special case. I will commission the woman, but the guys are all yours. I promise.”

  ELECTRONICS MANUFACTURING COMPOUND, RICHLAND, WA

  1230 (2030 GMT), 11 October, 1942

  Captain Scott Richardson walks out of the main complex building as a black Navy sedan pulls up. The driver opens the back door of the sedan for Alan Turing and Commander Kevin Barr to get out. Barr salutes, “Captain Richardson, Mr. Turing. Mr. Turing, Captain Richardson.”

  Richardson, “Mr. Turing, I’m incredibly honored to meet you. It’s your inventions and ideas that are behind everything we do here.”

  “Thank you. Commander Barr told me you can help us. We lost Bletchley and our outlying labs during the German invasion. We had to destroy everything.”

  “We can. Shall we begin the tour?”

  Richardson takes them on a thre
e-hour tour of the installation, giving him detailed information of two of the FOB sites. He ends the tour at his office and offers tea.

  Turing, “How many people do you have working here? I feel like Gulliver’s been my tour guide and I’m a Lilliputian.”

  Scott smiles, “About forty thousand. Understand, what we do here is possible because of what you did. You’re the grandfather of all this technology.”

  “I’m thrilled at the possibilities this means for our work. We need to make the code breaking computers. They’re vital. When you came back in time, it changed all of our work.”

  “We’ve been authorized to help you set up shop. Where do you want to work?”

  Turing grimaces, “Sorry. I want to work in England, but it’s been devastated. America will be logistically easier, but it’s also further from the signal sources we’ll be processing.”

  Commander Barr, “I’ve permission to put the Japanese desk into the combined intelligence center. We’ve sorted out some of the logistical hurdles of establishing secure single use communications from Britain to the U.S. That cable is already established from Hawaii to DC. Here’s the map of its route. We should locate your facility on that cable.”

  Turing looks at the map and points, “Riverside, California. I understand the weather is mild in California, and this town is away from the coast.”

  Barr, “There’s plenty of land and it’s mostly agricultural. The cable follows the railroad, so the logistics are doable. There’s also an airbase nearby. Scott?”

  Richardson nods, “I’ll have my staff draw up the paperwork and break ground. Your facility is, of course, top secret. What will be our cover story?” They look at each other for a moment, then Richardson says, “It’s a map making facility. That would explain the British and naval presence. It also explains the location near the Pacific fleet.”

  Turing, “Good. That will work. How do we fund this?”

  Richardson, “As host unit, we will cover construction and operating expenses. You pay your people and we’ll pay ours.”

  Turing nods, “Yes. That will work. Right now, most of my staff are being housed outside of London. We managed to move or destroy all of our equipment. When should we arrive at the new facility?”

  Richardson turns to Barr, “Go to Riverside and pick a site. It needs to be on the rail line, or better yet, a spur. We need over a hundred acres. We’ll need buildings for the computers, offices, and personnel. Give it a college campus look and feel. We’ll be housing some very important and talented people. I want them comfortable so they can work.”

  Barr, “What’s my budget?”

  Richardson thinks for a moment, “Four million should be enough. If you find a facility that’s already built and will cost more, let me know.”

  Turing looks stunned, “Four million dollars? I say, you Yanks are taking this seriously. Good. Thank you.”

  AVIATION FACTORY EAST OF MOSCOW

  0640, 12 October, 1942

  Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Pokryshkin walks around the prototype jet. The wing is flush with the bottom of the fuselage. It resembles an A-4 Skyhawk, but it’s larger and has two engines. Unlike the Skyhawk, the elevators are mounted low. “Why are the intakes high and behind the leading edge of the wing?”

  “Not all of our runways are pristine. The high intake reduces the possibility of FOD.”

  “Good. The engines are from our American F-1s?”

  “They are Russian made copies.”

  “It is similar to the attack jets the Germans flew after the time event. Why did we lower the elevators?”

  “At high angles of attack, the wing might shadow the elevator, causing a loss of control.”

  “Thank you. Is it ready for me to test fly?”

  “Nearly, sir.”

  COMMODORE HUNT’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY

  0615, 12 October, 1942

  Smiling, Hunt walks in wearing her flight suit, “I’m flying in a few minutes. Any messages that can’t wait?”

  Cooper, “I’ve got one you don’t want to read.”

  Her smile disappears, “What is it?”

  Cooper, “It’s going to piss you off, boss. It can wait.”

  She shakes her head, “Hand it over.” She reads:

  FROM CNO

  TO COMNAVFORUK

  REG: Combat Flights

  Commodore Hunt, as the Germans are no longer threatening Britain, you shall restrict your flight operations to those necessary to maintain flight proficiency. Flag officers should not fly combat missions. Your relief should be on station in the next day or two. After a one-week turnover, report, with VFA-154/155, HS-1, VA-11, VMA-324, VEA-1, VS-1, and attached units to NAS Patuxent River for leave and reassignment.

  ADM King

  She takes a deep breath, “Fuck.” Another shuddering breath, “Fuck. Cooper, do not ever hide something like that from me.”

  “Sorry, Spike. I know you want to fly.”

  She picks up the phone and dials control, “This is Hunt. Inform Commander Swedenborg he’ll be leading the raid. Thank you.”

  She walks back into her room and changes into khaki. Throwing her flight suit on the bed, she thinks, “King is right. Flag officers don’t fly. But I…I so need to.”

  KNIGHT 1, 300 FEET OVER ROTTERDAM

  As Swede leads his squadron east over the city, they drop every bridge. Lt. Jerry ‘Gandhi’ Jacobs, “Airborne radar way off to our east.”

  Swede, “They have us?”

  “Signal is strong enough. Don’t know how they do against ground clutter.”

  “Okay, then. How long to Arnhem?”

  “Three minutes. We’re on track. Do you want to auto-drop?”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  Gandhi, “I’m picking up ‘262 search radar. I’m looking for the pontoon bridge.”

  Swede, “Found the bridge. Turning.”

  “Got it. Okay, coming up.” They feel the bombs dropping from their jet.

  Swede, “Illuminate. Gs.” He pulls back on the stick and climbs.

  Gandhi, “I’ve got them. 89 miles at 110. They’ve fired on us.” On radio, “All units. Houlihan.”

  Swede inverts, fires countermeasures, and dives for the deck. He rolls upright and climbs to miss some power lines. A line catches on a ventral fin. He feels the plane stagger, but he pushes the throttles forward and keeps flying.

  Gandhi, “I can see the missiles. One will be close.”

  Swede pops over some trees, “Call the break.”

  They hear GQ, “Quad Fox 3.” The other White Knights repeat the call.

  Gandhi, “It missed us. How’s it flying?”

  “Fine. The land here is so fucking flat. No terrain to hide in.”

  GQ, “Splash 4. They’re bugging out. Swede, your guys are clear.”

  Gandhi, “Much obliged, Rook flight 2. We’re feet wet and climbing.”

  Ensign Peter ‘Cowboy’ Winchester, RIO of their wing plane, “Gandhi, you tore off your left side ventral fin.”

  Gandhi, “Understood, Cowboy. Switch lead for damage check.” A few minutes later, “You trimmed some shrubberies, but otherwise, you’re fine.”

  CONTROL CENTER, RAF KENLEY

  Hunt reviews paperwork and listens to the radio. “Andrews, could you please set me up with a meeting with the director of British Intelligence?”

  USMC Lt. Colonel Peter Andrews, her chief of staff, replies, “Sure.”

  “I’d like to interview a couple of Germans.”

  “Which ones?”

  “General Weber and Field Marshal Rommel.”

  “I’ll set it up. Here’s a message hot off the press.”

  Hunt reads it, “All hands for an award ceremony tomorrow at fifteen hundred. Fuck, the King will be there. I wonder why?”

  Andrews, “He probably wants to say thank you”

  “That makes sense. Please arrange it. It’s White, Black, Devil Dogs, Iron Angels, Valkyries, Lightning, and Sea Hunters.”

  He takes n
otes and leaves.

  APARTMENT, ANDORRA LA VELLA, ANDORRA

  1115 (1015 GMT), 12 October, 1942

  USAF Technical Sergeant Tiffany Van Zandt, wearing a simple local dress, prepares lunch. USAF Master Sergeant Kelly O’Brien comes in wearing workman’s clothes, “We’ve a visitor.”

  Tiffany walks into the living room with a coffee pot and cups. Lisa Anderson, MI-6, asks, “Are you all here?”

  Tiffany, “Who are you? Your accent is English. Near London, I think. What do you want?”

  O’Brien, “No, but Holmes should be here soon.”

  Anderson, “I’m from the British government…”

  US Army SFC Henry Holmes comes in and stops cold, “Who are you?”

  Anderson, “As I was saying, I’m from the British government. I’m here to get you home.”

  Holmes, “Wait a second, what do you mean by ‘home’?”

  “There’s an American contingent in Britain let by Commodore Hunt. I’ll be taking you to her.”

  Tiffany, “Her?”

  Holmes hands Tiffany an Andorran newspaper. The picture on the front page is that of a female pilot standing in front of an F-14, its side stacked with flags.

  Holmes says, “It says the German invasion of Britain failed because of her.” He turns to Anderson, “Have you met her?”

  “Yes, I have. We can’t move until nightfall. There are Nazi agents everywhere.”

  O’Brien, “We know.”

  CHAPTER 6

  COMMODORE HUNT’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY

  1030, 12 October, 1942

  Swede walks into Hunt’s office, “Why couldn’t you fly?” She hands him the message from the CNO. “Fuck. They’re trying to put you in bubble wrap.”

  “I know. I have to obey.”

  “Yeah. Do you suppose this means you’ll keep your star and get a battle group?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  He pours himself a cup of coffee and gets comfortable. “Cooper, could you give us a minute?”

  “Yes, sir.” Cooper gathers up some papers and leaves.

  Swede, “Sam, I’ve no doubt you could handle a battle group.”

  “It’ll be what it will be. I may be assigned to navigate a desk at the Pentagon.”

  “It could be their plan, though I believe Lee will look out after you.”

  “Right. But, if someone higher has decided I’m made of crystal, I’m doomed. I’m no good at Pentagon bull shit. It would look like I was hiding.”