To Hunt and Protect
Page 1
TO HUNT AND PROTECT
THE FIGHTING TOMCATS HUNTER/KILLER SERIES BOOK TWO
M L MAKI
ROSE HILL PRESS, OLYMPIA, WASHINGTON
Copyright © 2020 Sofia R. Maki and Megan L. Maki
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781734909920
ISBN-13: 9781734909937
The views presented are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of the Dod, or the US Navy.
Cover design by: Megan L. Maki
Printed in the United States of America
To Hunt and Protect is a work of historical fiction and speculation using well-known historical and public figures. All incidents and dialogue are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Because of the speculative nature of this work, we have changed some present day timelines, 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.
To all those men, and now women, who sail and fight beneath the seas. The perfect battle is one you are so prepared for, that no enemy is willing to fight.
To those steely-eyed frogmen who go down range to protect the freedoms so many of us take for granted.
Thank you.
Of all the branches of men in the forces, there is none which shows more devotion and faces grimmer perils than the submariners.
Winston Churchill
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
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 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
THE END
Glossary
About The Author
Books In This Series
Books In This Series
CHAPTER 1
USS SAN FRANCISCO, PACIFIC OCEAN NORTH OF THE PHILIPPINES
1000, December 21, 1941
The USS San Francisco SSN-711, a Los Angeles class nuclear powered attack submarine, silently glides through the South Pacific waters. Its executive officer, Lieutenant Commander John Morrison, knocks on his captain’s door.
Commander George Cumberland opens the door, then sits back down, “What?”
“A message from Admiral Ren, sir. The Carl Vinson and it’s group is about sixty miles behind us.”
Cumberland grabs the message and reads it, “What faint fucking praise. We fucking sank an Akula class, one of Russia’s best, and this is what he sends?”
“It’s 1941, sir. We are allies with the Russians.”
“Yeah, but the enemy didn’t know that. Okay, is that all?”
“Commander Miller has asked if you want to cancel the scheduled propulsion plant drills in light of the situation?”
“No. I want them at their best. Run the drills. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir.” Morrison walks aft to control.
The Boatswain, “XO in Conn.”
Morrison walks up beside the engineer, “Commander Miller, the drills are still on.”
“Is he a monster?”
“He’s our boss.”
“Roger.”
MM1(SS) MALLORY’S RACK, USS SAN FRANCISCO
1032, December 21, 1941
Mallory sits on the deck holding photos of his boys, tears clouding his vision. MM3(SS) Gustaf walks by, sees him and stops, “Dude, are you okay?”
“Fuck no, I’m not. My boys are gone. They’re fucking gone. Forever fucking gone.”
“They didn’t die.”
“No, it’s worse. They will never, ever, ever exist.”
“Your still producing sperm, right?”
“Gustaf, you’re an idiot. You don’t get it.”
“Look, I lost my folks. They won’t be born until ’46 and ’48.”
Mallory looks up at him, glaring, “Exactly. In six years, you will have your parents. They will be babies, but they will exist. My kids will never exist.”
“They could.”
“Gustaf, you’re not that stupid. Do the math.”
“You’re what, thirty-six?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Your oldest is?”
“Fourteen.”
“So, when you crank him out, you’ll be sixty-eight. You should still have a few good sperm. Granted, you’ll be eighty-six when he graduates from high school.”
Mallory shakes his head, “You still don’t get it. Picture this. You have this beautiful, vain, gold-digging twenty-year-old co-ed. A sixty-eight-year-old geezer walks up and says, ‘Hey, before I went back in time, we were married. Well, we got divorced because you are a bitch that fucks a guy you met at a comic-con, but we had two kids together and I really want my boys back, so let’s fuck.’ Yeah, good plan. That should work.”
“Okay, you’re fucked. I get it now.”
“Most deployments some dude loses a grandma or something. Everyone here has lost their family. Some of you will get your families back. Those of us with kids, though, we’re all well and truly fucked.”
“Dude. I’m sorry. Um, I need some sig’s on my Upper Level Watch Qual.”
“Sit.”
BASE LIBRARY, BRENDENMEYER NATO AIR BASE, GERMANY
0045, December 21, 1941
Sophia Newberg looks out a window. Nazi’s are everywhere. The base headquarters, where her husband worked, is still smoldering. The library is hidden in a copse of trees, but that won’t last. She hears a door open and snaps around, clutching a book. Her husband, Jerry, in his BDU’s is carrying two gasoline cans. “Thank God, where did you get them?”
“Motor pool. This job makes me sick.”
She takes a can from her husband and pours it out onto a pile of books. “I know, but we can’t let this information get into Nazi hands.”
He walks across the library and pours his can out on another pile. When they are done, she strikes a match and puts it to two twists of newspaper. She holds them for a moment, looking around at the stacks of books. “I never thought I would ever do something like this. God, forgive me.” She drops the brands on the two piles.
Jerry asks, “Did you disable the sprinklers?”
“Yes, I did.” They watch the flames catch and take hold. They look at each other and he grabs her hand. “Let’s go.” They run out and get into a stolen 1935 Mercedes and drive to a gate in a remote
corner of the base. There, they open the fence lock and drive out into 1941.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1300, December 21, 1941
John Morrison stands next to the OOD, LCDR Greg Backes. A phone talker reports, “Maneuvering is ready to commence propulsion plant drills.”
Backes, “Very well. Announce it.”
The BMOW announces, “Commence propulsion plan drills.”
Morrison asks, “Greg, how are you doing?”
Backes looks his friend in the eyes, “It sucks. Our families evaporated like a precious dream you can’t hold on to when your alarm sounds.”
“Yeah, no Lisa. She was born in 1961. Her mom and dad are only kids.”
“Yeah, Carol was born in sixty-three. She’s not at all going to be interested in an old man.”
“Where did your grandparents live?”
“At this time, I think they lived in Minnesota. They moved to California when he got a job with Lockheed. What about yours?”
“Captain in Conn.”
Cumberland looks at them, “A word, XO.” He turns and leaves.
Morrison, “Yes, sir.” He looks at Backes and follows his captain forward. He knocks, then walks into the Captain’s stateroom. “Yes, sir?”
“I’ve noticed the crew’s morale seems lower than it should be. I would think they would be pleased with our kill.”
“It’s the time travel, sir. They have all lost their families. They are all mourning their loss.”
Cumberland glowers, “They need to get over it. Their families weren’t issued with their sea bags.”
Morrison, stunned, “It seems to me sir, their families loaned them to us. We train them, work them, and hopefully return them in good order when their career ends. They will work through it in time. But, sir, these men loved their wives. But, I think, it’s the loss of their children that are hitting them the hardest. Meanwhile, it is probably good to keep them busy and give them the space to grieve.”
“Space to grieve? No. We have a war to fight. You realize we should exceed the Tang’s record. Even you might get a star.” Cumberland smiles and nods, “Hey, that’s right. You’re not a legacy anymore. How old is your admiral dad?”
“Thirteen. He’s living in Norfolk while my grandfather hunts submarines in the Atlantic.”
“What rank is your grandfather?”
“Right now? I think he was the XO of a destroyer. Don’t recall its name.”
“What rank did he retire at?”
“Vice Admiral. His last command was Fifth Fleet in the Med.”
“What side was your birth grandfather fighting for?”
“My mom’s father was interned in Idaho where he joined the 100th Battalion even though he was born in Sacramento.”
“Your saying he was American? Not Japanese?”
“Yes, sir. My mother’s grandfather was born in Japan. The family legend is that he was madly in love with a woman from an important family. She loved him too, so they eloped and fled to San Francisco where they converted to Christianity and married. My grandfather fought with the 100th Battalion while his wife and child were interned. He died in Germany. My dad’s father is, I think, a cop in New England.”
“So, you are descended from a line of heroes?”
“They fought for our country as so many others did.”
“You know you’ll be kicked out of the Navy because of your ethnicity.”
“No, sir, and you don’t know that either.”
“They might let you stay on as a steward.”
“And they may leave me right where I am.”
Cumberland smiles, cocking his head, “Don’t get your hopes up.”
USS CARL VINSON
Captain Johnson, commanding officer of the Carl Vinson sits in the carrier group commander’s office. An aid knocks and enters with a message. Admiral Ren signs for it and reads. “What the hell?” He hands the message to Johnson.
TO: COMCG-72
FRM: SSN-711
REG: TIME TRAVEL EVENT
Sir. San Francisco has a number of minority personnel in positions now forbidden to them; i.e., the XO, LCDR Morrison is a Japanese American. Please advise as to when these servicemen are to be transferred and when replacements will be made available.
CDR Cumberland
Ren watches Johnson’s face as he reads. Johnson looks up, “You’re kidding, right? What’s he thinking?”
Ren, “We’ve met Cumberland. Do you know Morrison?”
“No, sir, but Captain Klindt may.”
“Please call him.”
“Yes, sir.” Johnson goes to the phone.
Ren reads the message again, then goes back to his work. In a few minutes Captain Klindt, the reactor officer, knocks and enters. Without preamble, Ren hands Klindt the message from Cumberland.
Klindt reads the message, then carefully reads it again, then looks up, “We must not do this, sir.”
“I agree. The commander is correct, though, regarding regulation and executive order. What do we do?”
Klindt is silent for a moment, “Are we required to follow the orders of a history book, sir?”
“What do you mean, Captain?”
“I seems to me that a history book is informative, but not a directive. Just because the history says it happens, does not in itself mean it will happen. I think we should continue to comply with 1990 Naval directives until updated by higher.”
“So, we kick the can down the road until we get guidance? I assume you would expect that guidance to come from Nimitz?”
“I believe Admiral Nimitz would probably keep things as is and kick the decision upstairs. What we need to do is demonstrate to him, and higher, that our people, as they are, are indispensable. In truth, sir, they are. Commander Morrison is a nuclear and submarine qualified officer who has graduated from command college. Where would we get another ethnically correct officer in 1941?”
“True. Do you know Commander Morrison?”
“I do. He was a junior officer when his father took command of the destroyer Coontz. I was a lieutenant on the Bainbridge at the time and attended the ceremony. Later, we served on the sub tender Fulton together. He’s a bright, squared away officer. His father retired a rear admiral.”
“How is it a Japanese is named Morrison?”
“He’s Japanese American, sir. I don’t know the whole story, but his dad was in the Navy and married a Japanese woman. They both died in an accident. His father was best friends with the Morrisons and they adopted and raised him.”
“So, you have no issues with him in a command position?”
“Absolutely not, sir.”
“What do you know of Commander Cumberland.”
“We have never met, sir.”
“Okay, then. Gentlemen, we will adopt the Klindt, split the hair with a razor, plan. All remains status quo until specific guidance is received from higher.”
WARDROOM, BATTLESHIP TIRPITZ, NAVY YARD, WILHELMSHAVEN
1143, December 21, 1941
Leutnant zur See Helmut Schmitt shovels food into his mouth. Yesterday was his duty day and he still has much to do on this afternoon. If his men get all their work done, he may even have time for some beers tonight.
Leutnant zur See Hansel Zimmerman asks, “Did you hear that the Captain is back from Berlin?”
“Ya.”
Schmitt is from Bremerhaven where his father still serves as shipwright. He grew up around the Navy. “My friend, do not believe rumors. If we had won all the battles rumors say we have, the world would be ours. If we got all the promotions rumor suggest, we would both be admirals.”
“You are not interested?”
Schmitt smiles, “I am very interested in what the Captain actually has to say.”
Over the announcing circuit, they hear the voice of Kapitan zur See Karl Topp, the commanding officer of the Tirpitz, “Good afternoon, Tirpitz. Two days ago, a time travel event took place in the Rhineland. A Luftwaffe facility, with many advanced wea
pons, came back to us from the year 1990 to our time to help us defeat the British and the cursed communists. Some of this technology will be coming to our ship. We must learn to us it. That is all.”
Zimmerman looks at Schmitt wide-eyed, “I had not guessed this. Ours are anti-aircraft divisions. Perhaps the technology will come to us.”