by M L Maki
“Yes, sir. Do you know what kind of tanks the Hun are using?”
“No, but I’m told they’re a bloody bastard to kill. Make your shots count. A few shots and we fall back. We’ve torn up the road, so they have to deploy in front of us.”
“Yes, sir. Sir, how long have you been in?”
“I graduated from Dartmouth in June.”
“Okay, might I off some advice?”
“Certainly.”
“We’ve faced the Hun three times now. If we face the Panzer 4, we need to wait until they are less than 800 meters to fire. If it’s the Tiger, we should let them pass and hit them in the rear. It’s the only way.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
“One more thing, if you survive this, then you’re old enough to curse.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Do take care, Sergeant.”
CHAPTER 18
COMMODORE’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY
1950, 29 September, 1942
Sam stares at a blank sheet of paper. Finally, she writes:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Younger,
It is with great regret I must inform you of the combat death of your granddaughter, Lieutenant Tabitha Younger. She was a dear friend…
She stops, “Too much. Too much.” She crumples the piece of paper, throwing into the basket, and starts over.
Cooper walks in holding a tray with sandwiches and a cup of tea. “Let me write them, Boss.”
“Radar, they deserve a personal letter.”
“And, they’ll get one. You need a break.” He moves the paper and puts the plate and the tea in front of her, “Now, eat.”
“Thank you.” She picks up a sandwich, “Chicken salad, good. Any cookies?”
He grins, “I’ll get them. Oh, and we got another message from Hamm. He says the unit at Alconbury had embedded air defenses. They’re getting harder to kill.”
“Okay, I need to talk to Mohr. Is he done at the clinic?”
“I’ll fetch him. I know the doc’s pulled him from flight status until his wounds heal.” He starts to walk out, then turns, “Spike, I’ll write the letters, okay?”
She gives him a wan smile over her cup of tea, “Thank you.”
GRUMMAN, BETHPAGE, NEW YORK
1510, 29 September, 1942 (2010 GMT)
ENS Von Nix taxies his F/A-14B to the runway. It’s his third hop of the day with a different RIO, “I’m still not used to someone else using the radio.”
ENS Heather Kohlman, “You know, we’re more than communications, right?”
“Yeah. You ready to attack Providence?”
“I think so. It’s going to get bouncy, right?”
“Yep, Pappy wants us on the deck.”
They get Boyington’s signal in the lead jet, and the two planes accelerate down the runway, gently lifting off, and cleaning up their birds. They fly out to sea, slowly climbing to 4,000 feet. Pappy wiggles his wings and turns north, descending. Rather than fly up Narragansett Bay, they go feet dry east of New London. Kohlman says, “Scope and threats clear. This isn’t too bad.”
“It’s really flat here. ‘Gs’” He pops over a transmission line. “Still looking for the valley.”
Kohlman, “About 8 minutes.”
“Okay,” They climb over small hills.
Kohlman, “2 minutes.”
The two-plane element drops into a north to south valley with a river and a highway. Kohlman, “Turn in 3.”
“Roger.”
In three minutes, a small town appears ahead of them and they turn out of the valley, heading east. Kohlman, “Faint radar south of us.”
“They got us?”
“I don’t think so, 5 minutes.”
Nix, “Gonna get bumpy.”
“Thanks, 4 minutes.” Then, “2 minutes. Radar is stronger.”
“Okay, bumpy.” They’re crossing ridge lines and staying low.
The outskirts of Providence pass under them. Pappy pops up to bombing altitude and his RIO, ENS Robert Carnegie says, “Drop. Drop. Drop.” On radio they hear, “Tally ho, north.” One of the defenders has spotted them. Carnegie, “Illuminate.”
Kohlman turns on her radar, “2 bandits, 15 miles at 12 o’clock and angels 10.”
Nix, “AIM-7 selected.”
“They’re closing,” On radio, “Fox 1, fox 1.”
Then Carnegie, “Fox 1, fox 1.”
Jackie Cochran, in the defending flight, violently turns, dropping chaff.
Nix, “Gs,” turning to get on her six.”
Cochran reverses and they pass head to head about 100 yards apart.
Nix “Gs. Damn, she got close,” and pulls into a minimum distance turn.
Kohlman, “Pappy’s on the wingman.”
Cochran mirrors Nix’s maneuver and they are in two-circle fight. Because of the offset, Nix gets his nose nearly on her, and she goes vertical.
Kohlman, “Pappy is three miles right.”
Nix lights his afterburners and follows Cochran. He glances towards Pappy. Kohlman on radio, “Pappy, swap targets.”
Nix rolls off Cochran and sees a clear rear quarter shot on ENS Mical DeGraaff’s bird, “Fox 2.”
Kohlman, “Fox 2, fox 2.”
Carnegie, “Fox 2, fox 2.”
Rascal in the observation plane, “Knock it off. Knock it off. Good kills. All units return to base.”
COMMANDER’S OFFICE, RAF KENLEY
2035, 29 September, 1942
Cooper knocks on the door and ushers LCDR Mohr into her office. “Thank you, Radar. Tea?” Cooper looks at Mohr, who nods.
“Roger, Spike.”
Mohr is wearing a clean flight suit with his arm in a sling. Spike, “Mike, how are you doing?”
“Doc won’t let me fly.”
“I know. How are you doing?”
He studies a spot on the wall, “Tabby made it down fine. The fucking Germans killed her. Shot her in the back.” He looks at Sam, “She died in my arms.” He looks down, tears starting.
Cooper walks in with tea and cookies. He sets down the tray and pours. He looks at Sam and nods, walking out silently.
Mike looks up, “She was special.”
“I know she was an amazing person and pilot.”
“Sam, I loved her. I told her.”
“Did she respond?”
“She said me she loved me, too. Then she died.” He takes a ragged breath, “I couldn’t tell her before. She worked for me. I couldn’t.”
“I understand.”
He looks at her, “I heard what you did after Jedi and Stinky were killed.”
“I was too pissed for my own good. It could have cost me my plane and my RIO because I was so damned angry.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
“I need to kill them. I need to avenge her.”
“Is that what she would have wanted?”
“No, but…but, I have too. I feel so damned useless.”
“Look, we’re building jamming pods. Work on them and let me know when they’re ready. I need you to teach our RIOs how to use them.”
“I need back in the air.”
“Talk to Swede. We can transition you to the ’14. I need the pod soonest. They’ve got too much anti-air.”
“Yes, Spike.”
LOUIE’S PUB, BETHPAGE, NEW YORK
1830, 29 September, 1942
The student RIOs are already in the pub when the pilots arrive. Major Greg ‘Pappy’ Boyington leads, followed by LT Jackie Cochran. Boyington heads straight for the bar, “Beer.”
The bartender slides one down, “Ten cents.” Boyington slides back a dime. Cochran stands, studying the RIOs. She’s flown with Alcott, Kohlman, and Uhle and none of them worked for her.
ENS Julian Everling watches her bemused, “Lieutenant, I have a camera if you want a picture.”
She turns and looks at the short ensign. He’s considered to be one of the top RIO students. “I’m deciding which RIO I want.”
Everling la
ughs, “You’re assuming any of us would put up with you.”
Cochran sits down at Everling’s table and motions for a beer. “I’m a lieutenant, and you’re an ensign. You have no choice.”
He stares at her, “Didn’t you listen to what Walker said? We have to be a team. If I’m going to put up with you, you better fucking listen to me and not pull rank bullshit. Otherwise, you’ll be a dead lieutenant, and I’ll be a stupid, dead ensign.”
“I like your spunk.”
“I like how you fly, but can we be a team?”
Ensign Mical DeGraaff, a beautiful dark-haired woman, acquires two beers, and sits at Ensign Steve Uhle’s table. “You and me, what do you think?”
Uhle nods and takes a long drink of the offered beer, “We did well together on that first flight. Yeah, works for me.”
Boyington finishes his first beer and gets another. He looks over the groups that are developing. He sees a pretty, auburn haired ensign laughing with another woman. He grabs his beer and sits down across from them. ENS Margaret Alcott says, “Major, have you met ENS Heather Kohlman?”
“She was Nix’s RIO on the last flight.”
Kohlman, short, pretty, and dark-haired, says, “Good evening, shipmate,” and gives him the straight hand.
Nix, at another table, starts laughing. Boyington shakes his head, “ENS Kohlman, could you excuse us?” He turns to Alcott, “Do you want to fly behind me?”
“I’m not a Marine.”
“I’m the only Marine here. I need someone.”
“Is there room in the cockpit for me and your ego?”
Pappy smiles, “I think I could shoe horn you in.”
Nix motions Kohlman over, “Join me. I’ll buy you a beer.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Oh, okay, they probably have coffee.”
“I’ve got a coke. I’m fine.”
“Right. Look, I liked flying with you today. Do you have a pilot yet?”
“Nope, do you?”
“You know I’m a pilot.”
“Really?” She looks around, “Does everyone else know?”
“I sure hope so. Would you like to fly with me?”
“Sounds like you’re asking me out on a date. I don’t date co-workers.”
“God, you’re tough. I promise to never get romantically entangled if we fly together.”
“Okay, then. I can work with that,” and she gives him a dazzling smile.
CONTROL CENTER, RAF KENLEY
0530, 30 September, 1942
Spike sits reading the night action reports. An aid comes in with a tray of food and sits it on her desk. There are at least five scrambled eggs, six slices of bacon, three sausage patties, a pound of hash browns, and four slices of toast. She shakes her head, “Thank you,” and keeps reading.
Behind her, Cooper clears his throat. “Yes, Mom.” She sets the papers down and starts eating.
He sits down next to her, “Andrews was an inspired choice.”
“Good.”
“He and I are playing good cop, bad cop.”
She swallows some eggs, “What’s not getting done?”
“That’s the thing, everything is getting done. When there is, say, friction, if he gets involved, they all know he’s one step from you. He’s the bad cop. They come to me hoping to do an end run around him. I ‘solve’ the problem by getting exactly what he wants done. It keeps folks happy, because they all think they have a work around, and everything gets done. It’s cutting weeks off the requisition process. Although, it doesn’t hurt that we are Priority 1 for all war materials.”
She finishes a bite of sausage and takes a sip of tea, “So, I don’t need to do anything?”
“No, Boss. We’re a smooth functioning machine. We have nine barracks under construction and we’re nearly done with the hard shelters.”
“It’s only been a week.”
“I know, and it took two days for the concrete to dry. Andrew’s a whiz. He really is.”
“Good.”
Lizard walks in, “Boss, we need to re-engine our bird.”
“Already?”
“Boss, we’ve been running the shit out of it.”
“Okay,” she sighs and dips her toast in her tea, taking a bite.
Lizard, “I have one of the new birds set aside for our use until ours is fixed.”
“Okay, but I have a fondness for 210.”
“I know, Boss. They’ll have it back on line in about six hours.”
CHURCH TOWER, NORTHWEST CAMBRIDGE, UK
0919, 30 September, 1942
“Dusty flight 2, Wingnut, approach from the east up the river. Keep low, the Germans have AA.”
“Wilco, Wingnut. Can you mark friendlies?”
“I have it confirmed, we have no armor in Cambridge.”
“Good enough, Wingnut, Dusty flight 2, out.”
PFC Jimmy Thatcher walks into the tower, “Lieutenant, sir? A Home Guard officer wants to speak with you.” The roar of the two A-10s is punctuated by the ‘Brrrrt’ of their cannon.
“Just a sec.” On radio, “Dusty 2, Wingnut. Good kills. Keep it coming.” He turns back, “Okay, kid.”
A 2nd lieutenant who looks like he should be in high school walks up and salutes. “Lieutenant Ashland, reporting with a message, sir.”
Wingnut silently looks him over, “If you salute me in the presence of the enemy again, I will spank you in front of your men. What do you want?”
The lieutenant pales, “My apologies, sir. Major Davis is asking that we delay the Germans outside Cambridge so we can effect evacuations.”
“I’m not planting smart soldiers because stupid students failed to leave.”
“My pardon, sir. It’s not people. It’s art and books. Some are truly priceless.”
Wingnut nods, “No guarantees, but we’ll do what we can.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Carry on, and no salute.”
“Yes, sir.” Again, they hear the A-10s cannon.
101ST BATTALION, 1ST BRIGADE, 3RD SS PANZER DIVISION, SOUTHWEST OF CAMBRIDGE
SS-Obersturmbannfuhrer Rolf Meier, “Gentlemen, our forces attack from the north and west. We circle to the south and gut them. I want you to kill anything that moves, unless it’s worth fucking or has intelligence value.”
The tanks roll through empty streets. He studies the buildings and sees no one. Something falls in an alley, and one of the tank commanders stitches the wall of a building. He hears the distinctive roar of an A-10. On radio, “Stay close to the buildings.” He hears one of his tanks explode and cusses. An old man exits a door five hundred feet ahead and he guns him down.
He sees a glint form the bell tower of a church and sprays the area with his machine gun, ‘You God damned pig fucking British cowards. I’ll kill you all. I’ll end your race, entire.”
CHURCH STEEPLE, CAMBRIDGE, UK
From the cover of the stone parapet, Wingnut looks back at the direction the rounds came from and spots a Tiger. “Any Hog, Wingnut, we are taking effective fire from the south west. Say again, south west.”
“Wingnut, Rusty 3, on it. Approaching from the south west to acquire.”
More bullets embed themselves in the stone and ring the bells, deafening them. He sees a main gun turning, “We gotta go.” He leaps for the stairs, taking them three at a time, Jimmy following. They hear the distinctive paper tearing sound of a near miss. They run out of the church, Wingnut shouting, “Go! Go! Go!”
His squad throw themselves into the truck and it starts with a jerk, heading southeast. Wingnut collapses in his chair shaking with pain. Jimmy hands him a canteen and three pills. Wingnut takes it, “Thanks, Jimmy. You’re doing all right. Tell Rodriguez to find a place toward downtown. There are some tall buildings there.”
COMBAT, USS COLUMBIA CLG-56, 180 MILES EAST OF THE MARSHALL ISLANDS
2224, 30 September, 1942 (1024 GMT)
CDR Shawn Hughes sits in the TAO chair reading reports. Captain Heard walks
in and a petty officer announces, “Captain in Combat.”
Heard sits next to Hughes, “Still worried about the Marshalls?”
“Yes, sir. I’m glad we have the Yorktown with us. The thing is, if I were the Japanese, I would be expanding airfields and acting as aggressively as I could. Time isn’t in their favor, and they know it.”
Heard, “It comes down to resources. We have them, and they don’t.”
“Yes, sir, and we know they’re designing new aircraft and new ways to use what they have.”
“Wouldn’t they focus on preparing home island defense?”
“I don’t think so. They need the whole co-prosperity sphere to stand against us in resources. In their mind, it all must be defended.”
“Well, hopefully we’ll pass unnoticed. The Japanese wouldn’t risk their jets out here.”
A watch stander, “Yorktown reports airborne contact at 0312, sir.”
Hughes, “Plot it, altitude, speed and course.”
“Altitude is 40,000 feet, speed is 520 knots, course is 085.”
Hughes looks at his captain, “General Quarters. Air action.”
Heard nods, “Do you think it’s an attack plane?”
“Search plane. The profile is that of a jet and it’s too high and too fast for anything else.”
“Agreed.”
“Admiral Fletcher is ordering us to 0275 to launch aircraft. Requests Columbia take the vanguard.”
Heard hands Hughes a helmet, “Very well. Relay to the bridge.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Heard, “go to your GQ station, Commander. I have the watch.”
“Yes, sir.”
JAPANESE AIR FIELD, KWAJALEIN ATOL
Captain Hata barely lays his head on the pillow when the siren blares him awake. He stands and throws on his gear, his bombardier gearing up beside him. His squadron of Washi bombers landed two hours ago. Here, because command had word an American task force could be near. He looks down at the sleeping mat, “Oh well, couldn’t sleep anyway, too quiet.”
The two men run for their plane, admiring its beautiful smooth lines reflected in the moon light. They mount their bird and begin the preflight checks. In a moment, they’re rolling down the taxiway. He looks down the line of jets and proudly realizes that his is first out. “Well done, Asahi.” Warrant Officer Asahi Tanaka smiles. They receive the order and gun their aircraft into the sky. Fifteen Washi bombers follow and Zero fighters scramble to defend the base.