ROCKS AND SHOALS

by M. L. Maki

  Asahi, “I’ve read of them. There were two types, one for one aircraft, and one that held three.”

  Chris takes a sip of his tea. They watch as a cloud of smoke and fire billows up and a large missile shoots into the air. The booster rocket shuts down and the missile tumbles into the sea. Smoke continues to rise from the submarine, then they see flames. The support ship sprays down the hanger, putting the fire out.

  Asahi, “My God, a terror weapon!”

  Chris, “Yes. It looked like a V-1. Lovely family of mine, we need to escape as soon as we can.”

  GUY’S HOSPITAL, LONDON, UK

  1820, 12 October, 1942

  Spike walks from ward to ward, visiting with each of her wounded men and women. Then she goes to Lt. Tommy ‘Wingnut’ Urland’s room. He’s propped up on his left side, head above his toes. He’s awake. He sees her and raises his right hand a little. She puts her hand in his, “How are you?”

  “I’ve been better. Thank you, Spike.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You trusted me.”

  “Always. You’re one hell of a pilot, and you’re damn smart.”

  He smiles, “I’m also a difficult pain in the ass.”

  She grins, “Okay, that too. Together, we stopped them.”

  “You stopped them. I just told you where they were.”

  “Tommy, the guy you killed, the SS officer, he was the most aggressive of them all. He murdered his way down the island. You know you locked horns with him a few times. Then you finally killed the bastard.”

  “Yeah, the sword surprised him.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I asked him if he was afraid to die. Spike, these guys are pathological. He was convinced his soul was pure.”

  “He was a Nazi. Those assholes are murdering Jews right now. By the way, it looks like Cuddles may have a girlfriend.”

  “Good. Me too.”

  “I’m glad. Can I know who?”

  “Her name is Victoria. She’s coming soon.”

  “Is it alright if I meet her?”

  “Water.” Sam gets his water and helps him drink.

  “Yeah, It’s fine.” There’s a soft knock at the door and a red-haired woman walks in. Tommy’s face lights up. She’s caring a small cloth bundle.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I can come back.”

  Spike, “Please come in. May I call you Victoria?” She moves back so Victoria can be beside Tommy.

  She looks at Sam, “Yes, of course.” She turns back to Tommy, “I brought you something.” She pulls out a sweet roll and breaks it into pieces, feeding him.

  Spike waits until she’s done. “I don’t want to be a bother, but I need to tell you some things.”

  Tommy tears his gaze away from Victoria, “Yes, Spike?”

  “In eight days, I will be relieved and sent back to Washington. They’re sending us all back and breaking up the squadrons to form new ones.”

  “What squadron will I be assigned to?”

  “You’ll be on Lee’s staff while you’re convalescing. After that, I don’t know.”

  “Spike, we both know I’ll never fly again.”

  “No, I don’t know that.”

  “Look, I lost part of a lung and about three feet of intestine. That and my shoulder is still fucked up. I’m done.”

  “You don’t know that. Even if it’s true, the Navy still has need of you.”

  “Doing what? Counting bullets and biscuits?”

  “You could go SWO.”

  “Maybe, but I want to convalesce here.”

  “I see that. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Who’s relieving you?”

  “Duke from the Blue Diamonds.”

  “He’s a good one.”

  “Yeah, take care, Wingnut. We need you. Remember that.” She turns to Victoria, “It’s been nice to meet you. Take care of the lug.”

  CHAPTER 7

  OUTSIDE GUY’S HOSPITAL

  2110, 12 October, 1942

  She finds a man leaning against her sedan, a thoughtful look on his face. He smiles when she sees him.

  Spike, “How can I help you?”

  “I represent an organization you wish to speak with.” He puts his hand out, “I’m Chris Oliverson, British Intelligence. Could you give me a ride to Kenley? Say, a thirty-minute drive?”

  She takes his hand. “Yes, of course. Please get in.”

  Once they’re in the car, Oliverson says, “I understand you want to extract a number of high value persons from Switzerland.”

  “Yes, I do. I need a ground game there to gather up all the people I want. That, and I don’t have a list of people. I know of two. I suspect there are many more.”

  Oliverson, “There are twenty-seven American personnel who escaped after the time event and made it to Switzerland. There are thirty-five British pilots and nine couples associated with the British or allied embassies. I can gather them all in one spot if you can get a plane in to pick them up.” He hands Spike a paper, “This is the names and ranks of the all the Americans.”

  Spike pulls over and stops so she can read the list, “Thank you. We need a solid plan to bring back to Eisenhower.”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  KNIGHT 1, 200 FEET OVER OCCUPIED FRANCE

  0610, 13 October, 1942

  Swede turns north, flying over the Rhine River, “Auto-drop.”

  Gandhi, “Set.”

  As they close Basel at 600 knots, a wall of tracers rises up in front of them. Swede, “Shit.” The bombs release and fall away. They feel rounds hit their jet. “Gs.” He violently rolls and turns west, diving away from the onslaught.

  Gandhi, “One augered in.”

  On radio, they hear, “Daisy was hit. No survivors.”

  Gandhi, “Roger, continue west. Damage checks.” They hit and destroy every bridge the Germans rebuilt, as well as a power plant. Not one plane got through without being hit.

  Swede, “Number 2 is heating up.”

  “No problem, brother Swede. That’s why we have two.”

  POW CAMP, WALES, UK

  0620, 13 October,1942

  The sergeant of the guard salutes Commodore Hunt, “Guiles, take the commodore to the interview room.”

  Hunt, “Thank you.”

  In three minutes, Field Marshal Rommel is escorted into the room. He’s in uniform and is clean and groomed. A British interpreter accompanies and sits down at his side. Rommel offers his hand, and she takes it. In accented English, Rommel says, “So, you are Commodore Hunt. The dreaded Drachendame.”

  “I am.” She smiles. She realizes her German is better than his English.

  “It was you who planned the air defense?”

  “It was. Why did you invade at New Castle?”

  “The south of England is a fortress. Also, we found weather data at the air base that came back. We knew the weather would be calm. You were a shrewd adversary.”

  “As were you. Are you aware that your decision to surrender saved your life?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In 1944, a number of German officers planned and attempted an assassination of Hitler. It failed. As I understand it, you aware of it, but did nothing.”

  “I was executed?”

  “You were given a choice, suicide, and save your family, or trial and execution, and your family with you. You chose the former.”

  He nods his head, “What now?”

  “You know Germany will inevitably fall. By early ’44 we’ll be producing ships, tanks, and guns, and training soldiers faster than any of our enemies could possibly destroy them. The U.S. Army will number several million men. The navy will have more than a thousand warships. The warriors blooded here will form the core of hundreds of other units. Defeat is inevitable. The only question is how many military personnel and civilians must die before Hitler does?”

  Rommel, “What of our wonder weapons?”

  Hunt shrug
s, “We have our own, and more of them. That, and those of us from the future know exactly how to use them to their greatest effect. Field Marshal, I do not love killing Germans, but I have killed many. My command has killed thousands, and will no doubt kill thousands more.”

  “It is the nature of war.”

  “It is, but it’s also a waste of humanity. Why did you choose to surrender?”

  “You controlled the sky. You had supplies and fresh soldiers and equipment coming in, and I had none. I was nearly out of armor, ammunition, and fuel. There was no possible way I could win, and I did not wish to lose more men for a lost cause.”

  She nods her head, “It’s the same on the continent. Russia is closing in on Germany every hour. How can we end the war in Europe?”

  “You are asking me to betray my country.”

  “You care about your men. I’m asking you to care about your civilians; the women, the children of Germany who will die. I’m asking you to care about those who will be forced to live under the heel of the Russians. I’m asking you to be more than a general. I’m asking you to be a statesman.”

  “Commodore, no one respects a traitor. Not even his new masters.”

  “I thought you were a better man.” She stands, giving him a long measuring look. He stares back, impassive. “Right.” She walks to the door.

  “Wait.”

  She turns, “Yes?”

  “My men. What will happen to them?”

  “Some will stay here. Most will be moved to Canada and the US. Everyone will be treated in accordance with the rules of warfare. Field Marshal, we do not murder our prisoners and we do not murder our citizens.”

  “I’m willing to discuss what you seek.”

  “Thank you. Someone from Eisenhower’s staff will be along shortly.” She pauses, “Thank you, Field Marshal.”

  She heads back to Kenley by helicopter.

  SILVER STRAND, CORONADO, SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

  1022 (0622, 13 October GMT), 12 October, 1942

  A huge bonfire lights up the sky. The SEALs gather around in their dress uniforms, drinking beers and saluting, “To Whizzee, a damn fine SEAL.” Triage lifts his beer and slugs it down. Lieutenant JG Jeremiah Buford slams his beer.

  A military police sedan pulls off the road and Triage walks away from the fire to talk to them. A sergeant gets out, “What’s going on here?”

  Triage, “Sergeant, is that how they taught you to address an officer?”

  The sergeant promptly salutes, “Sorry, sir. What is going on?”

  “We’ve just come from the funeral of a fallen comrade. We’re memorializing him.”

  “Sir, the fire is silhouetting ships off the coast. Japanese submarines, sir.”

  “Right. We’ll deal with it. Thank you.”

  “Who are you people?”

  “You may go, sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Triage has the guys park the cars and pile sand so the fire can’t be seen out to sea.

  Myrna Loy, sitting on Fronczak’s lap, studies Buford. She gets up and walk to him, “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah. I miss him.”

  “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  “Mine’s in England. Same for Triage. That’s how it goes.”

  CONTROL CENTER, RAF KENLEY

  0650, 13 October, 1942

  Spike walks into control. The British female watch captain says, “Black Knights are returning from their raid. One aircraft lost. Red Cocks are briefing for their raid. The War Hawks are flying CAP. The Golden Knights are engaging port facilities at La Rochelle.” The War Hawks are a USAAF F-1 squadron, and the Golden Knights are a Marine A-10 squadron.

  “Who’s missing?”

  “Landis and Carnegie, ma’am.”

  “Have we sent a helo and warthogs?”

  “Knight 1 reported no survivors.”

  She sits down, “How close are the Knights?”

  “They’re starting to marshal.”

  Captain Carpenter walks in, “I heard.”

  She gets up, “Walk with me. The Germans are smart. To avoid disaster, you have to evolve faster than they do. We’ll debrief the flight and change up what we’re doing. We need to speak with Marshall.” They walk into the briefing room and everyone stands.

  Commander John ‘Marshall’ Dillon says, “Commodore.”

  She walks to the podium, “We lost a flight crew a few minutes ago. I haven’t heard exactly what happened. I’m holding you on the ground until we know. Our enemy is resourceful and sneaky as hell. Every time you go up, please be on top of your game. That is all.”

  Hands go up. “Yes, Skeeter?”

  “What do we know?”

  “We attacked bridges and a dam in Basel, France. We were to go in low. I don’t know yet if it was ground fire, SAMs, aircraft, or bad luck. When they’re on the ground, we’ll know. Yes?”

  “Why are we seeing so few German fighters?”

  “A good question. We know they’re badly depleted and they’ve the Russians to deal with. But, with each mission, we need to plan for getting jumped by the Luftwaffe.” She smiles, “Thank you. Carry on.”

  Hunt and Duke go to her vehicle. She motions Cooper into the back seat and gets into the driver’s seat. Duke, “Where are we going?”

  “Swede’s hard shelter. He’s going to be upset.”

  “You’ve grown a lot as a leader, Spike.”

  “Yeah. Keeping everything running smoothly means looking out for your people’s emotional state. I know Swede. He’ll be upset.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  She looks over at him, “My emotional state must always be stable. If you take care of your people, they’ll take care of you when you have a bad day.”

  “True.”

  She parks the jeep next to Gloria’s Invicta and they walk into the hard shelter. At the flight line, Gloria salutes. They watch Swede’s element make a smooth landing and exit the runway. His is the last flight down. Spike, “Captain, have you met Lt. Houlihan?”

  “Yes, we’ve met.”

  Swede spins his jet around and secures the engines. Ground crew swarm the craft, safe the unused missiles, and push the big jet back into the hanger. When everything is shut down, Gandhi, then Swede, unasses their bird. They walk up and salute. Swede, “Good to see you, Duke.” He looks at Spike, his stance ridged.

  Spike, “Do you have a hot wash?”

  “Yeah, they’ve started lining up guns where they think we’ll fly in and just shoot straight up as we approach. We all have holes. I sucked debris into my left engine. Lost oil pressure.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Fix the lasers on our birds and get us some laser guided bombs and we can drop them down a chimney from thirty-five thousand feet. Until then, to drop bombs accurately, we have to go low.”

  Houlihan, “How can we hit them at a stand-off distance? We don’t have cruise missiles.”

  Spike, “I think a high explosive, or armor piercing charge, on a Sparrow or Long Bow missile might work. Guide with radar and use the camera for verification.”

  Swede, “How would we sort them out on the weapons console?”

  Spike, “We should be able to change their ID code. If not, the ID will have to inputted into the weapons computer at load out. I’ll get Fluffy on it. Swede, we can talk later. Thank you. Captain, let’s go.”

  They walk back to her jeep. Duke, “He handled it well.”

  “No, he didn’t. He locked it down because you were there. Gloria is taking care of him.”

  “Why Gloria?”

  “They’re no longer in the same squadron, but she used to be his wingman. That, and she’s really good at listening.”

  “Are they an item?”

  “That, dear Captain, is none of our business.”

  “Gloria is your friend, too. I remember.”

  “Yes, she is, and yes, I know the answer to your question. It’s still none of our business.”

  “Fair enoug
h. Are there any relationships I should know about?”

  “Among the Knights, A-10s, and Valkyries there are over fifty people married to English citizens, and probably another fifty that are engaged. Up north, with our maritime group, it’s easily a hundred or more. These are families and relationships we must absolutely protect.”

  “You don’t discourage it?”

  “No, Duke. No. All of us lost our families. How could I deny them the right to reconnect?”

  “I was thinking of the national policies from the eighties. Sorry.”

  “Also, as you know, it’s against the law to interfere in a subordinate’s private life. Don’t meddle, but do protect.”

  “How do you protect them?”

  “I moved the whole kit and kaboodle down here from Alconbury when it was attacked. Now that it’s over, some are staying on base and being useful, and some have gone back to their farms, etc. I’ve been feeding everyone here at the mess halls, regardless of where they came from.

  “We’ve set up a sanitation area off base where people can shower and collect fresh, safe drinking water. We’re south of London, and as I’m sure you noticed, south London got hit hard. The villages that surround us sent their fire brigades to save the base at the cost of their own homes. We’re a part of this community, and we have a responsibility for their well-being.”

  “I think the tax payers would freak if they knew they were paying to feed the British.”

  “Do you remember the Marshall Plan? The American people are not monsters. We’re doing the humane and right thing. I very much hope you will continue my programs, Duke.”

  “I will. I see the need. Once they’re on their feet and no longer need the assistance, we’ll wean them off it. As for relationships, most of my command will be ‘42s. Most of them have families. Still, I won’t interfere with their relationships. I’ll also work toward sending their wives and husbands home when it’s over.”

  “Thank you. Andrews maintains a list of all spouses here to make it easier for us to get them to the States.”

  BOBLINGEN WORK CAMP, BOBLINGEN, GERMANY

  1110, 14 October, 1942

  Lt. Peter ‘Moses’ Moskowitz is lead into the prison grounds from the camps headquarters by his SS captors and released. For the first time in months, he’s not in a cell or in manacles. The prisoners stare at him, then look away. Like them, he’s malnourished. Like them, he’s wearing the grey striped prisoner uniform. Like them, he’s wearing the yellow star of David. SS guards watch over the camp from towers surrounding the camp. He sees a huge wood and brick building on one side of the camp.