Divided We Stand (The Fighting Tomcats Book 2)

by M. L. Maki

  “You did well on the Salt Lake City. Elias says great things about you. I can’t have you being a problem, though. Understand, you will have females under your leadership, as well. Will you do it?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I meet her?”

  “I’ve already discussed this with her. Captain Miles, would you invite Commander Wakefield in?” Miles leaves and returns a few moments later with Commander Wakefield, still in her dress blues. Halsey stands, “Commander Wakefield, this is LCDR Flanagan, your new engineer.”

  Wakefield gives Flanagan a measuring look, “Welcome aboard the USS Fife, Commander. You’ll have your work cut out for you.”

  “Admiral Halsey says it’s a new type of plant.”

  “Yes, gas turbine. Instead of steam, we use jet engines similar to those used by the aircraft the Vinson flies. It’s a whole new set of procedures and equipment you need to learn.”

  “Do you have problems with men and women, um, you know?”

  “Of course, it happens now and again. When it does happen, we punish the perpetrators so severely it deters it for a time. But, our first priority is to put together a temporary bridge. We are building what amounts to a tent right now, but it is what we have.” She turns to Admiral Halsey, “Sir, I have no doubt that Commander Flanagan is a phenomenal chief engineer. But, I think he could serve me better as the XO. It would also benefit his career rather than repeating an assignment.”

  Halsey smiles, “I do see your point. Approved. Now if you two could excuse me.”

  Once they are out the door, Flanagan says, “Thank you, Captain.”

  She smiles, still not used to being called that, “I’ve heard what you did for the Salt Lake City. You’re both thoughtful and tenacious. We will need that. You also have more practical leadership experience than I do. We’ll get to know each other better soon enough. Now we have new crew mustering in hangar bay two. If you can attend to that, I need to talk to Captain Johnson. He commands the carrier we are on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wakefield puts out her hand, “Thank you. I look forward to working with you, Commander.”

  HANGAR BAY 3, USS CARL VINSON

  1703, 18 JANUARY, 1942

  Spike, walking through the hangar bay, weaves around her squadron aircraft. The bay is crowded with F-14s needing repair and maintenance. Three of her aircraft have engines removed, two have radomes open, and another has its gun system out. With the Enterprise once again handling most of the patrolling, they have birds on ready five, but none flying. AN3 Greg ‘Duck’ Newburg approaches, looking down with his hands in his pockets, then looks up. “Ma’am, I know you’re busy, but, um.”

  “Yes, what can I do for you, Duck?”

  “Well, ma’am, it’s Ham, um, MM1 Hammond. With all the new people hurt, they kind of kicked him out of medical, again. And now, he don’t got a division. They’ve given him orders for the Fife, ma’am. He’s all burned up, ma’am. They can’t drag him over there. Can he work with us?” He looks at her, eyes full of hope.

  She nods, “Yeah, sure. I’ll call up Halsey’s staff. It’s probably a mix up. How’s he doing, by the way? I know he saved our berthing.”

  “Oh, thank you, ma’am. Thank you. He’s the hardest worker ever. He still can’t do much,…but, thank you.”

  She smiles, “Greg, it’s not a problem. I’ll take care of it. Send him to see Senior Chief Bond. He’ll find a place for your friend.”

  HANGAR BAY 2

  1712, 18 JANUARY, 1942

  BT3 Donny Petrakis, from the Stoddert, stands with a group of sailors, some from 1942, who served on vessels just recently lost. He’s in his working uniform with his sea bag next to him. He doesn’t have much, but it’s something. A young sailor with bushy black hair and a stained hat approaches reading his uniform, “Hey, Petty Officer Petrakis, where you from?”

  Donny reads the sailors uniform, “Miami, Florida. How about you, um, Petrakis?”

  Seamen John Petrakis says, “Oh, I thought we might be related. I’m from Philly.”

  Donny grins, “My grandma lives in Philly, on 18th Street.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Linda. This is getting weird.”

  “Yep, my brother Ted married Linda. I’m your great uncle John.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “This is nuts, my great uncle John, um, shit. You died in the battle of San Bernardino Strait.”

  “I didn’t need to know that.”

  “Sorry, you transferring to Fife?”

  “Yeah, you too?”

  “Donny says, “Yep. You know, everything is changed. There might not even be a battle of San Bernardino Strait, so I guess you’re okay.”

  CHAPTER 8

  BRIDGE, USS CARL VINSON

  0720, 21 JANUARY, 1942

  Sam, in her khaki uniform, is standing watch with binoculars hanging from her neck. Her job is making sure the other ships are on station. Working on her SWO, she is the conning officer under instruction watch. Fluffy enters the bridge in his flight deck uniform and the OOD, Lt. Sawyer says, “No flight deck uniforms on the bridge, Senior Chief.”

  Fluffy says, “Yes, ma’am,” and gives Sam an inquiring look.

  She mouths the word, “Later.”

  He shakes his head and leaves.

  Sawyer asks, “One of yours, Commander?”

  “Yes, my senior enlisted advisor.”

  “You get relieved in 10 minutes.”

  “Yes, I know. It’ll wait.”

  Commander Todd “Groovy” Miller, of the Tomcatters, walks in in his khakis, “Request to enter the bridge to relieve the watch.”

  Sawyer says, “Enter.”

  A few minutes later Sam is walking down the flights of stairs from the bridge. She finds Fluffy in the ready room, “What is it, Fluffy?”

  “Ma’am, what are you doing standing bridge watches? Fuck the black shoe Navy.”

  She smiles, “Fluffy, how many supercarriers does the navy have right now?”

  “Us. Just us, ma’am.”

  “True. How many do you suppose the navy will have by the end of the war?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. It takes years to build one, so maybe two.”

  “One of the reasons it takes so long is congress stretches out funding. They are incredibly complex, especially the nuclear carriers. My guess, ten or more. We are at war and these ships are critical.”

  “That will be something, ma’am.”

  “Yes, it will be. Who do you suppose will command them?”

  “Oh shit, ma’am. I’m sorry. You’re preparing for command.”

  “Johnson thinks it’s a good idea. The other squadron commanders are working on their SWO’s, too.”

  Swede walks over, “Does Halsey know?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Oh, by the way, ma’am. We’ve settled on a winner.”

  “Winner? What?”

  “The squadron logo contest,” and grins. “We’ve chosen what we think is the best” He hands over two papers. One is the current logo with the sword and shield of the knight grounded. The new logo is identical, except the shield on the left arm is raised, and the sword in the right hand is poised to attack. “I figure this keeps with the tradition but reflects that we’re at war.”

  “I take it the others were a little more flamboyant. Who came up with this?”

  “They’re from your old division, Lori Givens and Greg Newburg. He designed it and she did the drawing.”

  Sam nods, “I like it. Well, when do we present it to the squadron?”

  “I have the sail loft working on a flag. It should be ready in a day or two. We’ll do it then.”

  “Thank you, Senior. I appreciate this. I’ll have dinner with the two that night. By the way, which plane should it go on?”

  “Everyone’s, ma’am. But, I think Thud should fly the show bird. He has the most kills besides you.”

  “Good idea, I like it.”<
br />
  “No, problem. By the way, the chief’s mess is throwing an ice cream social tonight on the aft mess decks. You ought to come down. You’re looking a little thin.”

  Spike grins, “Get out of here.”

  USS CARL VINSON, PORT BEAM

  1100, 21 JANUARY, 1942

  A rigid hull inflatable boat, RHIB, pounds through the seas toward two surfaced submarines, the USS Dolphin and the USS Sturgeon. The RHIB is piled with five-gallon tubs of ice cream. It gets to the Dolphin first where two men in flight suits are on deck with the crew. ENS Hugo ‘Don’ Alphonza, pilot of Viceroy 7, shakes Lt. Rainer’s and Lt. JG Porter’s hands, “Thank you so much for saving us from certain death.”

  Rainer smiles, “I’m glad we were able to wiggle our way into Tokyo Bay to get you.”

  ENS Butch ‘Screws’ Phillips, Viceroy 7’s bombardier, shakes their hands, “You guys kick butt.”

  Porter says, “It was clever to click your belt buckle against your gun in ‘a shave and a haircut’. It’s how we heard you.”

  They each salute Lt. Rainer and the ship and are helped into the RHIB while the RHIB’s crew hand up tubs of ice cream. It’s a tradition as old as naval aviation. The RHIB then maneuvers to the Sturgeon as the two airman wave to their rescuers.

  On the deck of the Sturgeon are some of its crew and its captain and XO, LCDR A.D. Barnes and Lt. JG Jarvis. Standing with them are ENS Patrick ‘Bug’ Ulster, pilot of Knight 101, his RIO Lt. JG Hyam ‘Joker’ Alberts, Lt. Laramie ‘Six Gun’ Morrison, of Beefeater 9, and ENS Jebediah ‘Skeeter’ McAllister, of the Red Cocks.

  They shake the submariner’s hands, “Thank you, Commander, Lieutenant. We thought we were fish food for sure,” says Ulster.

  Barnes replies, “Our pleasure, but don’t make it a habit, okay?”

  Alberts says, “You guys are ballsy to fight a war in one of these.”

  Jarvis says, “Coming from someone who flies a craft with no visible means of support, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Morrison says, “I owe my life to you fella’s. It’s not a debt I will forget.”

  Barnes replies, “We were just glad we found you. Try to duck next time.”

  McAllister, still shaking Barnes hand, “I appreciate what you and your fine crew have done. You make Mamma Skeeter very happy.”

  The four men climb aboard the RHIB and help hand up the ice cream to their rescuers. The RHIB pounds back to the port side of the Vinson where it accepts a bowline and a large hook, which are hooked to a cleat and a lifting eye. Then, as the boat is lifted out of the water, the coxswain secures the motor and they all grab hold of monkey lines in case the boat falls. It is lifted 60 feet to its mount on the mid-port sponson.

  When they get out of the RHIB, they walk into a wall of cheering Vinson sailors. Halsey, Johnson, and all of the squadron commanders are at the head of the line. Ensign Ulster sees Spike, “I’m sorry I lost the bird, ma’am.”

  Spike pulls him and Joker into a hug, “I’m just glad you’re back. Welcome home.”

  BLACK KNIGHTS CO’S OFFICE

  1730, 21 JANUARY, 1942

  Spike is buried in award package paperwork, typing a draft for the tenth time, when her door opens. Gloria walks in and sets a bowl of ice cream in front of her, “Rocky road, right?”

  Sam looks up, startled, “Yeah, wow, thanks.” The ice cream has extra fudge, almond sprinkles, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.

  Gloria sits down, removing papers from a chair, “Just sucking up to the boss. By the way, Bug and Joker have been cleared by medical.” Gloria takes a bite of her ice cream, luxuriating in the taste.

  “That’s good to hear. I was worried about them. I know we all were.” They eat in silence, “What are you having?”

  “Chocolate overload: chocolate ice cream with chocolate chunks and hot fudge, pure heaven.”

  Sam laughs, “Thank you.”

  “You know, you’re holing up in your office again. What’s the deal?”

  “The deadline for all the awards is tomorrow morning.”

  “Why so soon?”

  “Don’t know. I presume Papa has his reasons.”

  “Why are you doing it alone? It’s like crunch time in college. Let me call the guys up and we can pound it out and get a decent night’s sleep. You could use one.”

  “The guys are among the awardees.”

  “Of course, they are. Just don’t give them their own. You know, you aren’t the Lone Ranger.”

  Sam cocks her head and grins, “Okay.” She picks up a stack of files, “Fine, here.”

  BLACK KNIGHT READY ROOM

  2030, 21 JANUARY, 1942

  Hot Pants, Swede, Thud, Puck, Gandhi, GQ, and Speedy are at desks pounding away on typewriters. Moody Blues is blaring from a boom box in the corner and empty ice cream bowls are everywhere. Swede asks, “How do you spell ‘exemplary’?”

  Absently, without looking up, Spike spells it for him.

  Then Thud asks, “Can I use the word ‘studly’?”

  Everyone looks up. Hot Pants says, “Say the word in context, Thud.”

  “In a studly maneuver, he succeeded in shooting down two aircraft in a single pass.”

  Spike asks, “Whose file do you have?”

  Thud turns red, “Um, Swede’s.”

  Spike smiles, “Skilled maneuver, Frank.”

  Swede says, “You mean, I’m not studly, boss?”

  Spike shakes her head, smiling, “I’m not touching that,” and goes back to work.

  WARDROOM 1, USS CARL VINSON

  1600, 24 JANUARY, 1942

  LCDR Hunt walks into wardroom 1, in her undress blues. Following her in are Airmen Lori Givens and Greg Newburg, also in their dress uniforms. Greg had to borrow his, but it has his green airman stripes and his purple heart. They look around tentatively, a bit overwhelmed. A mess attendant approaches and bows slightly, “Commander, guests, please, a table is this way.”

  Sam says, “Thank you.” They are led to a six-person table near the front.

  “What would you wish to drink?”

  Sam says, “Coffee, please. You two?”

  Lori squeaks, “Milk, please.”

  Greg asks, “Do you have root beer?”

  The mess attendant says, “Yes, we do. One moment,” leaving a one-page menu with them.

  Lori looks at Sam, “You get real waiters here?”

  “Yes, Lori, but do you notice, there are no flight suits down here?” Lori and Greg look around and nod. “They’re not allowed. That’s why I normally eat in wardroom 3, which is about the same as your mess decks.” The mess attendant returns with their drinks, and Spike says, “The meat loaf, potatoes, and greens, with a salad, ranch, please.”

  “Greg nods, “Um, me too.”

  Lori says, “Uh huh, yeah, me too.”

  Greg looks at Lori, “This is cool, scary, but cool.”

  Lori just smiles.

  The air boss, Commander Forrester approaches, “May I join you and your guests, Commander?”

  The three stand, and Spike says, “Certainly. Commander Forrester, may I introduce Airman Lori Givens and Airman Greg Newburg. They won the contest for a new tail design for the Black Knights.”

  He shakes both their hands, “I heard, and I like it,” and sits down.

  Lori whispers to Greg, “Oh my God, we are so dead.”

  Forrester says, “I only chew up airman on the flight deck. Away from PRIFLY I’m somewhat civilized. I’ve been accused of being nice…once.”

  Sam chuckles and Lori turns red. The attendant approaches and Forrester orders. He asks, “How did you come up with your design, just having the knight pick up his shield and sword?”

  Greg smiles at Lori, “I figured that we were fighting a war, sir. You don’t fight a war with your weapons sitting on the ground. Lori drew it up, really cool.”

  “Greg, how did you come by the purple heart.”

  Greg looks at him and lowers his head. Spike says, “He’s a survi
vor of the Stoddert, sir. Bad burns from engine room 2. He wouldn’t leave his injured comrades. He stayed with them on the fan tail, waving for a chopper. When we picked them up, he wouldn’t board the bird until the rest of his friends were picked up. I’m proud to have him in my squadron.”

  “Oh, is he the one who annoyed medical? I heard about that. What happened to the rest of the guys?”

  Greg answers, “All of them died that night, except for Ham, sir. Ham pulled through and he’s a Black Knight now like me. He put the fires out in the forward sponson after we was hit by the missile. Ham is a hero, sir, a real hero.”

  “Oh, wow,” then to Sam, “Who’s Ham?”

  “Machinist Mate First Class Oscar Hammond, sir. Greg’s right. Ham was born with an overabundance of the hero gene. He was in our squadron berthing during the attack because he can’t effectively use his hands. They were badly burned pulling all the watch standers out of the engine room on Stoddert. When the Vinson was hit, he manned a hose, by himself, and put out the fires. He saved our berthing and saved the ship a lot of damage.”

  “Wow. You know the O-2 plant was right below where the missile hit. If the fire had reached it, the whole ship could have been lost. I hope you wrote him up.”

  “Oh yes, twice.”

  The mess attendant delivers their meals on porcelain plates. One of the rules in the Navy is that the officers must eat the same food served to the enlisted crew. It isn’t prepared quite the same way, though. Lori and Greg look surprised at the food. Lori asks, “Ma’am, may we say grace, please?”

  “Certainly, Lori. Would you like to lead?”

  “Um, okay, sure. We hold hands at our house.” She reaches for Greg’s hand, then, tentatively, for Forrester’s. He takes her hand smiling and takes Sam’s. She takes Greg’s, and they bow their heads. “Lord, thank you for this day. Thank you for this food. Thank you for bringing us to victory. In your Holy name, Amen.”