by M. L. Maki
As he walks toward the barracks, a guard hits him in the back, “Building 27.” By now, Moses knows enough German to comply. Entering the barracks, he’s confronted by a tall man in glasses. The man speaks, but Moses can only understand a few words.
Moses, “Do you speak English?”
A smaller man walks up, “I do. Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Peter Moskowitz, US Navy. Who are you?”
The small man translates, then asks, “They let Jews into the American military?”
“They do.”
“My name is Nata Fuhrmann. How were you captured?”
“I was shot down over France months ago.”
“You are a pilot?”
Moses, “I am.”
“How long have your family lived in America?”
My great uncle immigrated in 1928. My grandparents immigrated in 1947.”
“It is 1942.”
“I know the year. It’s hard to explain. There was an event on December 19, 1941. My aircraft carrier and its entire battle group was brought back in time to 1941 from 1990. I was born in 1963.”
“This is a lie. Time travel is impossible.”
“I would have to agree, but it happened. An airfield from 1990 came back as well. It’s where our captors got their new planes.”
“Yes. The new planes. If this really happened, do you know what happens to us?”
“Where am I?”
“Boblingen work camp west of Stuttgart, Germany.”
“How far to Switzerland?”
“About a hundred kilometers. It might as well be on the moon.”
“I’ve been in solitary confinement and interrogated every day for months. As terrible as this is, it’s like being free.”
“What will happen to us?”
Moses, “In my history this camp is liberated by the US Army in early 1945. The war in Europe ends with the unconditional surrender of Germany in May of 1945. We may have to survive another two and a half years, if we stay here. But there is hope. I know we may die. Many of us will. But we have control of our own minds and our own spirit. If you let them break you, you have died once, and the second death will come soon after.”
“What happens after the war?”
“The Americans and British will nurse us back to health, then set us free. Many of us emigrate to Israel and create for ourselves a new homeland. In that, we are successful, although we have to fight for it. Some, like my grandparents, will emigrate to America, where they will be accepted. There will be few Jews in Poland because the Russians controlled it along with eastern Germany. In west Germany, most Jews chose to leave.”
A steam whistle blows and Nata says, “We must work in the factory.”
Moses, “What are we making?”
“The Amerika Bomber.”
WARDROOM, USS BEAVER, HOLY LOCH, SCOTLAND
Hunt and Carpenter sit with the Captains and XO’s of the maritime units under Hunt’s command, including Battleship Division 5 and its support ships. Carpenter, “Morrison, when do you plan to get underway?”
John Morrison, CO of the USS San Francisco, a Los Angeles class submarine, “In nine days, sir. 23 October. It will be mostly ORSE preps, but we’ll leave a hunting plan. Because we coordinate with Western Approaches via your office, you should have a fair idea of where we are.”
Carpenter, “Huber, what is the status of your repairs?”
“Nearly finished. The memorial service for our fallen is in two days. Can you be there?”
“Yes. What is the status of the dry dock? It looks like shit.”
Little, “It’s crew disguised it to look like a derelict during the invasion. They’re planning a paint job soon, but tending to the units takes priority. The Savannah will dock in two days for repairs. They’re setting up the dock right now. It’s actually in very good shape.”
Hunt, “What are you planning for the Savannah?”
“Repair boiler 1 and 2. Replace damaged hull structure, build a temporary forward stack, and scavenge parts from mount 3 and 4 to repair mount 1, 2, and 5. We have to scavenge parts to fix mount 51 and 54, as well. Where mount 52 and 53 are, we’ll install surface to air batteries. We’re also replacing the forward mast and upgrading the radars.”
Carpenter, “You can do all that?”
“We can. We’re also upgrading missile defenses on three destroyers. They won’t be as effective as the Holtz because all they’ll have is RIM-7s. Still, it’s way better than guns for anti-air.”
Carpenter, “The dry dock cranes can lift a six-inch turret?”
Little, “No, sir. We’ve contracted a larger capacity floating crane for that task. Also, the turrets will be disassembled before lifting.”
Hunt, “What are your plans for the spaces where mount 3 and 4 are located?”
Little, “We’re planning to add ballast and leave them empty until the next overhaul.”
Hunt makes eye contact with Captain Leon Fiske, CO of Savannah, “I’ll order two Mark-41 vertical launchers for you. How long will all of this take?”
Fiske, “Thank you, ma’am. We’re estimating six to nine months.”
Little, “The San Francisco should not need the dock during this time.”
Morrison, “We won’t.”
Hunt, “Understood. Another thing, while you are in port and on normal work days, I would like all of you to send some of your crew to help with the repairs of the damaged ships. It will be good training for them and speed up the project. Are all of you swapping around crew for training?”
Huber, “Yes, Commodore. Already half my crew have their ESWS or SWO.”
Little, “The numbers are a little smaller for me, but it’s happening.”
Hunt, “Little, have you brought the others up to speed with the SWO, ESWS program?”
“I have.”
Hunt looks at the gathered CO’s, “It’s up to you, but I think it would be good for you to join in.”
“We are, and thank you.”
“I owe you all my thanks. It’s been an honor to serve with you.” Next, she turns to Lieutenant Commander Greg Backes, XO of San Francisco, “Sorry, Commander, but I will not be able to attend your wedding.”
Greg, “I understand, ma’am.”
Hunt, “I guess that’s all. Thank you all.” She stands to go and everyone else stands as well. She shakes hands and leaves. Outside the door, she takes a breath.
John Morrison follows her out, “Spike?”
She looks at him, “I should make your wedding. It doesn’t look like I’ll be committed elsewhere.”
He nods, “Can we take a walk?” She nods and walks forward away from the helicopter landing pad that’s under construction. “Where are you being assigned?”
“I don’t know.”
He stops, mouth hanging open, “That’s just fucked up.”
“John, I appreciate the support of you, and your crew. When I turn over to Carpenter, he will receive a permanent promotion to commodore, and I…I will revert back to commander. I’m directed to report to NAS Patuxent River, where the squadrons will disperse and I report to NAVAIR, and…I don’t know. I guess I go back to Tennessee.”
“That is fucked up. It’s beyond fucked up. There’s no way Lee and Klindt would do that to you.”
“They don’t run the navy, King does. John, I won’t know until I get there.”
“If they dismiss you, I’m resigning in protest.”
She turns to face him, “No, you will not. You will absolutely not. The Navy needs you. The world needs you. It needs your expertise and your ideas. If I’m done, I’m done. Honestly, John, right now, I’m so burned out it isn’t funny. Maybe they realize I have nothing more to give.”
“You need a break, sure. You shouldn’t be treated like this. You’re a hero.”
“Yesterday’s hero is todays nobody. It’s okay. Thank you, but it’s okay.”
A few minutes later in the helicopter, Duke says, “This end of your command is also re
ally squared away. Do you think they can actually finish the repairs to the Savannah in nine months?”
Hunt, “Probably less than six. Little can be a bit of a Scotty.”
“What?”
“Star Trek. Scotty always multiplied his repair estimates by a factor of four. That is how he maintained his reputation as a miracle worker.”
Carpenter grins, “Fair point. I’ll continue your SWO and ESWS program with crew swaps. It makes sense.”
“Admiral Klindt told me that the San Francisco is a school, as well as a submarine. I want my other ships to be schools, too.”
“Who is Backes marrying? Should I attend?”
“If invited, I would recommend you go. She’s the daughter of a Scottish Baron. Her name is Lady Catherine Glenlean.”
“He’s marrying nobility? Wow.”
“I’ve met her and she’s very nice. She has an adorable daughter named Patricia.”
“What happened to her first husband?”
“Shot down in a Hurricane during the first battle of Britain. This country has lost a lot. Have you married, Duke?”
“No. Nor is it likely. I was a confirmed bachelor before we came back.”
“So was Papa Holtz. His widow’s named Audrey.”
“I heard.”
“Well, when your girl finds you, I hope you keep an open mind. Oh, and send me an invite.” She smiles.
“How about you? I heard you have a big date coming up.”
“Yes. Group Commander Johnson. It’s becoming entirely too big a deal.”
“He isn’t for you?”
“Duke, it is harder for a woman in the service. If I marry, it’s assumed I’m not serious about my career.”
“It’s fucked up, but it’s also true.”
She looks at the window at the countryside passing below them, thinking. “It has to be Buford that pissed off Washington. I don’t want to end the relationship, but maybe I’m going to have to choose. It’s an unfair choice.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “It’s unfair. God, you never promised fair and I know I’m unredeemable. Is this what you want?”
CHAPTER 8
OFFICER’S CLUB, RAF KENLEY
1730, 14 October, 1942
After dinner, Thud, Gloria, Swede, and Packs enjoy a last beer. Gloria, “What’s going on with Sam?”
Swede, “It’s hard to be relieved. She’s going from commodore back to commander.”
Thud, “We’re going to lose some of our people, but keep our commands. What’s going to happen to her?”
Packs, “I asked Andrews. She doesn’t have follow on orders.”
Swede, “What the fuck!”
Packs, “I know.”
Gloria, “Wait. What does ‘no orders’ mean?”
Swede, “We can’t be sure. Usually, it would mean she’s being dismissed.”
Gloria, “They can’t! She’s the ace of aces! This is fucking bull shit! It’s wrong. Damn. What can we do?”
Swede, “In peace time, we could resign in protest. We can’t during a war.”
Gloria, “We have to write Lee…and Klindt. Hell, I’ll write the President.”
Packs, “No, Gloria. That would get you into trouble. If she’s being let go, we need to protect you.”
Gloria, “I don’t care.”
Swede, “We do. When she gets back from Scotland, we need to talk to her.”
SECURITY BUILDING, SANDBANK, SCOTLAND
Commander John Morrison waits while his call is being connected. Finally, “Klindt.”
“Sir, Morrison. Why are they firing Commodore Hunt?”
“As far as I know, they’re not. What are you talking about?”
“She’s turning Yankee over to a guy named Carpenter. He’s getting promoted to permanent commodore. She’s reverting back to commander and reporting to NAVAIR without orders. No orders mean no commission.”
“Damn. I’ll look into it. I can’t imagine why that happened. It has to be a glitch.”
“If it is, it’s a fucking cruel one. She seems to think she’s being fired.”
“Right. I’ll look into it. Lee is out west testing an aircraft. Let me figure this out.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
COMMODORE’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY
Spike walks into her office and find Swede, Packs, Thud, and Gloria waiting for her. Swede, “Radar, please give us a minute.” Cooper smiles and leaves.
Spike, “What?”
Gloria, “You weren’t going to say anything, right?”
Spike stiffens, “About what?”
Swede, “What are your follow-on orders?”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to report to NAVAIR.”
Thud, “To command what?”
Spike pours a cup of tea and doctors it. She takes a deep breath, then takes a sip. “Guys, it will be what it will be. The only thing to do is conduct ourselves professionally here, and see what fate gives us when we get to the States.”
Thud, “Have you ever, ever heard of a flag officer turning over their command without follow on orders?”
Swede, “Yeah, when they’re retiring, or getting fired.”
Spike, “I don’t know what is going to happen, but I’m not making a fuss over this, and neither are you. We have a war to fight. That is what is important.”
Gloria, “Sam, you’re our friend. If they can sideline you, they can sideline anyone.”
Spike, “Gloria, dear, they can. Both of us know the navy is under no obligation to be fair. Lee does not own naval personnel. They’re going to do something with me, I just don’t know what.”
BLACK BULL, STATION STREET LOCKERBIE, SCOTLAND
1340, 15 October, 1942
Lt. Gus ‘Cuddles’ Grant, wearing his honorary highland major’s uniform, and the crimson sash of his KCB, walks into the Black Bull. Patsy Stewart is washing up glasses behind the bar. She notices the shadow of someone coming into the room and looks up. “Oh! Well, you’re a darn sight cleaner than the last time you walked in here.”
He grins, “Yes, and I owe you something.”
For a moment, she’s confused, then her face clears and she smiles as he walks behind the bar and takes her into his arms. He puts a finger under her chin and lifts her lips to his, gently kissing her. “Oh my, Major. I think you owe me another.” She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him again. They hear applause and turn to her smiling patrons. He bows and she curtsies. They all cheer, lifting their mugs. She turns to her bar maid, “Margaret, would you be so good as to take over?” She takes Gus’ arm and they walk back to her quarters.
She looks up to him, “I thought you were in the Yank navy?”
“I am. The king granted me an honorary majority with my knighthood.”
She steps back, noticing the sash, “You a by God knight?”
“I am.”
“Well, in that case…” She pulls his head down and kisses him again.
BUCKINGHAM PALACE
1530, 15 October, 1942
Commodore Hunt, wearing her full-dress blues with sash, star, and crown pin, gets out of the sedan. “My God, I clank.”
A foot man greets her and escorts her into the palace. A guard salutes, and she returns it. The footman passes her to the King’s secretary. He guides her to a sitting room. “After you are announced, curtsey. His Majesty will wave his hand, directing you forward. Do not sit until he sits. Do not eat or drink until he does. Stop when he stops.”
“Got it. Thank you.”
He opens the door and motions her inside. “Commodore, Dame Samantha Hunt, United States Navy.”
Hunt bows and the King motions her forward.
BLACK BULL, STATION STREET, LOCKERBIE, SCOTLAND
Cuddles and Patsy lay in her bed catching their breath. Patsy, “Well, m’lord, you’re a bit healthier.”
“And you’re as beautiful as ever.”
She blushes, “No, you’re t
oo kind.”
“It’s the truth. I thought of you every day in the fight. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
She wraps her arms around him, “You’re pretty special yourself, love.” She looks into his eyes, “I want you for my own.”
“I want you, too. Darling Patsy, I have to fly back to the states soon. Once gone, Lord knows when I’ll be back.”
“You’ve a war to fight, and that’s the way of it. What are you planning to do after?”
“It’ll probably end in 1945. I’ll have about eight years of service and I’ll be at a decision point. Be a career officer, or retire my commission. I don’t know.” He holds her tighter, “I’ve had my fill of death, but I don’t know how to do much else. Would you let me drag you around the world while I fly jets for the navy?”
“Aye, love. I would. I’d follow you where ever you go, be it hell itself.”
“After the war, then. I’ll write. I’ll stay in contact. I’ll be back as soon as I can. By then, love, I’ll know what will be my future, and you can decide what will be yours.”
“You know I’m too old to make babies.”
“It’s alright. There’ll be no shortage of war orphans, if that is what you want. We’ve spent precious little time together, Patsy, but I love you. I want to spend my life with you.”
She starts crying, “Aye, love. I love you, too. I’ll wait for my major to come sweep me off my feet. For now, my love, send me to the stars again.”
COMMODORE’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY
YNC Cooper dials the phone. “Personnel, Jones.”
“Hello, this is YNC Cooper, Commodore Hunt’s chief yeoman. I have some questions.”
Jones, “Let me connect to my master chief.”
There are a couple of clicks, then, “Lincoln, how can I help you, Chief?”
“Do you know Commodore Hunt’s follow-on assignment?”
“I do not. Let me see.” Radar can hear papers shuffling, “She’s being assigned to NAVAIR for special assignment.”
Cooper lets out his breath, “Do you have any idea what that means?”