by M. L. Maki
“Steady as she goes, aye. She goes 312, checking 324.”
“Very well. Ahead two thirds.”
The Lee helm, “Ahead two thirds, aye. Ahead two thirds, ordered and answered.”
Lt. Sawyer, her instructor standing next to her, makes eye contact with Captain Johnson and smiles.
Forty-five minutes later, Sam, looking through her binoculars, studies the wharf, “The bow is drifting in. Lee helm, back one third, engine one and two, and ahead one third engine three and four.”
“Back one third, engine one and two, and ahead one third, engine three and four.” The opposing thrust counters the wind as the ship slowly approaches the pier.
“Rudder amidships. All stop.”
“Rudder amidships, aye.”
“All stop, aye.”
Then she sees the ship drifting just a little too far forward, “All engines back one third.”
“All engines back one third, aye.” Then the forward movement stops and she starts to drift astern, “All stop.”
“All stop, aye.”
“Fire messenger lines forward and aft.” At the line handling stations, sailors with M-14 rifles fire red rubber balls that pay out light lines behind them as they fly to the wharf. The light lines are used to pull heavier lines that then pull up the mooring lines. The Boatswain of the Watch announces, “Moored. Shift colors.” The flag comes down off the mast and up a post at the stern. The Navy Jack, a blue flag with 50 stars is raised on a post on the bow.
Sam, using her binoculars, watches the line handlers on the pier. As she watches, she notices a car with a familiar person standing by it. Her heart skips a beat when she realizes it’s Admiral Lee. Then she goes back to watching the line handlers secure the ship.
At her side, Captain Johnson says, “You’re doing well, Commander. I didn’t do as well in my first attempt.”
“Thank you, sir.”
KING’S WHARF, ROYAL AUSTRALIAN NAVY BASE, GARDEN ISLAND, NEW SOUTH WALES, AUSTRALIA
1034, 4 FEBRUARY, 1942
Admiral Lee and Admiral Nimitz stand in the bright sunshine watching the Carl Vinson slowly warp into port. He’s with a number of American and Australian officers. He can’t help but smile at their reaction to her size. Captain Potter, the shipyard commander, says, “Admiral, she’s huge. So immense. With those overhangs can our pier even handle her?”
“That’s why I had you moor those barges. She’s tying up where the barges are and will have no trouble. You know, Captain, I never thought I’d see her again.”
“She is a very beautiful ship. Did you once command her?”
Startled out of his musings, he says, “Her, what? Oh, the Carl Vinson? No, but I was the commander of her air group.”
USS LONG BEACH, CHIEF’S MESS, 2ND DECK FORWARD
1330, 3 February, 1942
Capt. Warren, along with the other officers, is seated and coffee is poured. Capt. Tenzar lifts a mug, “To survival, gentlemen. So, what do we have planned for this fine vessel?”
Warren says, “Sir, to begin with, we will be stripping the Long Beach of her Mark 10 missile launchers, and other weapon systems, in order to outfit two light cruisers.”
Tenzar interrupts, “What? You’re going to scrap her? Gentlemen, she still has a lot fighting in her.”
Warren lifts his hands, “No, no, sir. Please, sir, let me finish. Long Beach is going to get a one- year refit. She’ll be outfitted with 6-inch guns forward and aft, and Mark 41 vertical launchers. We agree, she’s going to be indispensable. We want to load her with a couple hundred vertical launch missiles, and guns befitting a light cruiser. Meanwhile, sir, we have a lot to do, and while we’re working on Long Beach, your missile systems would be better served at sea.”
Tenzar sits back, relaxing, “You had me going there for a minute, sorry. Good. It’ll take awhile to get ready to go into dry dock. I’m sure you know that, Captain.”
“Yes, sir. Until then, we can start pulling a lot of stuff off her while she’s pier side. Also, sir, we would like you to help us set up a proper nuclear power school here at the shipyard.”
Tenzar turns to Klindt, “Who will run it?”
“It will have to be one of your guys. For now, can you help set it up?”
“Yes, sir. And sir, I’m sorry I questioned your judgment concerning NRRO.”
“Ed, I know you met Mr. Hughes before. It’s really important that he gets the kind of respect NRRO must have. I’m sorry I jumped on you. I know you’re going to be crazy busy with all the work on your ship. Are we overloading you and your people by asking you to set up the nuclear power school as well?”
Tenzar straightens up, “Sir, there’s a war on. Needs must. In short, sir, you need to get it done and I will get it done.”
KING’S WHARF, GARDEN ISLAND
1132, 4 FEBRUARY, 1942
Admiral Nimitz and Admiral Lee are among the official party coming aboard the Vinson. Saluting the flag and quarterdeck watch, he sees Sam in dress whites standing behind the rest. Brought back to the moment by Captain Johnson saying something lost to him, he says, “It’s good to be back aboard, Captain.” His eyes wander back to Sam. She is looking elsewhere, and there is a sadness in her eyes he hadn’t seen before.”
“It’s good to have you both back aboard, sirs. Admiral Halsey is expecting you in the flag mess.”
“Of course. Captain, how did she do?”
“We got a little banged up, sir, but we left Tokyo Bay burning.”
One more glance at Sam, “Good. It’s a start. Shall we go then?”
SAMANTHA’S AND GLORIA’S STATEROOM, 03 LEVEL PORT SIDE
1146, 4 FEBRUARY, 1942
Sam walks into her stateroom, thinking. Richard’s on board and she needs to talk to him, needs to tell him everything. She needs to cry, but just can’t. Gloria says, “Hey, moody britches, what’s up? We’re getting liberty in Sydney. This is going to be an awesome day, so get your ass ready.” Gloria is changing from her dress whites into her dress aviation greens.
Sam asks, “No civvies?”
“God, Sam, where is your head? You put it our yourself, ‘no civilian clothes in Australia.”
“I forgot. What are you doing?”
“We are getting off this grey beasty and having ourselves a beer. Now get out of your whites and into your greens. These fucking white uniforms won’t stay clean for five minutes out there. Come on, young lady.”
Smiling, she starts changing, “You know, Admiral Lee is aboard.”
Gloria, checking her makeup, stops, “Is that’s what’s wrong? He was your friend.”
“Was is the operative word. He saw me there and didn’t say a word.”
“Ah, and now I understand the funk. Get out of it. He’s an admiral now. What would happen if he acted like a kid and rushed over for a chat? Think about it, Sam.”
“You’re right. Do you suppose Australian beer is as good as they say?”
WOOLWICH DRY DOCK, SYDNEY, NSW, AUSTRLIA
1115, 4 FEBRUARY, 1942
The USS Fife is being slowly backed into the dry dock across the bay from the navy base where the ships are pulled in. Parts of their new bridge can be seen staged near the dock. The pilot is watching from the stern as they pull the 529-foot vessel in to the dock. CDR Wakefield paces from wing to wing, watching with binoculars, “Pilot, I see the lines are fast. Shall I secure engines?”
The pilot, John Barnaby, has been managing docking vessels for three decades. This is the first commanded by a woman, “Not quite, ma’am. Let us back at on third for a bit first. Give the old girl some momentum.”
“Back one third.”
The Lee helm replies, “Back one third, ordered and answered.”
“Very well. Pilot, the bow is drifting south.”
“I see it, I know my business, ma’am. Two toots of the horn, please.”
She nods, and once the signal is given, the tug starts to push.
Mr. Barnaby says, “All stop, please, one long toot. And, ma’am, my
name is John Barnaby, not pilot.”
She nods and the watch carries out the order, then she says, “On a bridge, Mr. Barnaby, we all have titles. We use them for clarity. My title is Captain.”
“Yes, um, Captain.”
CHAPTER 12
BROUGHAM ST., WOOLLOOMOOLOO, SOUTH OF GARDEN ISLAND
1230, 4 February, 1942
Airman Greg Newburg walks with his friend and mentor, MM1 Oscar Hammond. Ham’s still moving slowly but improving. They’re with the rest of the airframe and powerplant division. Greg asks, “Ham, is this your first time in Australia?”
Ham turns into a tavern, “It depends on how you count. The last time I was here was 1988, so yeah, this is my first time.”
“Ham, you know what I meant.”
“Yeah. Come on, Duck, let’s grab a beer. Aussie beer is the best.”
MARKET STREET, SYDNEY
1235, 4 February, 1942
A short cab ride from the base and Sam and Gloria are dropped off at a drab seeming stone building. Sam grimaces, “This is a classy pub?”
“I asked for a classy place where a lady might get a drink. I figured a cabby would know.”
“Okay, in for a dime…” And they walk in. The only sign above the door says ‘The Blue Rabbit’. When they open the door, they can hear a piano and voices. They are in a hall with several doors and the music is behind a beautifully varnished wood one. Gloria pulls it open and a tall older gentleman in a suit asks, “May I help you?”
Sam answers, “Yes, sir. The cab driver said this would be a decent place where a lady could get a drink.”
The gentleman smiles, “Of course, please come in. Welcome to the Blue Rabbit.” They enter a large room with soft light from wall sconce reflecting off polished wood walls. The centerpiece is a large wood bar. There are a few people, mostly civilians.
They find an empty table and sit. Gloria says, “It’s so weird. I expect everything I see to be in black and white.”
“Gloria, the world had color before they invented color photography.”
“I know, but tell me, you aren’t doing the same. It’s like old photos come to life, but in color. This place is beautiful, and I keep expecting Humphry Bogart.”
Sam laughs, “You’re right. Well, here’s looking at you, kid.”
A grey-haired man wearing an apron approaches, “Good evening, ladies. What would be your pleasure?”
Gloria smiles, “What kind of beer to you have?”
“We have Four X, Victoria’s Bitters, and Cascade.”
Sam says, “The Four X, I guess. I’ve heard Australian beer is amazing.”
“You’ve heard right. Two beers, then?”
Sam asks, “First, we have American dollars, but no Australian. Is this a problem?”
“No, ma’am. American will be fine. We’re seeing a great many yanks about of late. Are you ladies with McArthur in the American Army?”
“No, we’re off the carrier. Navy.”
Gloria says, “We wear green as aviators. Do you serve food as well?”
“We do, though Australia is on the ration. Would you care for our Wellington, or would you prefer braised lamb?”
Sam says, “The Wellington for me.”
“Me, too.”
As the waiter leaves, two young men in uniform show up. “Good evening ladies. I couldn’t help but catch the yank accents and I thought to myself these poor damsels just might need looking after. I’m Pilot Officer Andrew Colbert and my friend is pilot extraordinaire Flight Lieutenant Rogers. We would be most honored to be at your service.”
Sam smiles, “Hello, Pilot Officer Colbert, Flight Lieutenant Rogers, I’m Lieutenant Commander Hunt, and my friend is Lieutenant Houlihan, but I don’t think we need looking after, thank you.”
Colbert cocks his head, “But, ladies, I should be clear. My friend is a war hero. He shot down three huns over north Africa. We are fighter pilots.”
Gloria asks, “Over Africa? What are you doing here?”
Rogers finally speaks, “I’m an instructor pilot now. I’m teaching the Yank P-40 Kitty Hawk. War Hawk to you Yanks.”
Sam says, “Oh, made by Curtis. I know that one. The Flying Tigers in China fly it, too.”
Colbert says, “You’re a fan of aircraft? We just have to get you out to see our birds. They are the best thing that flies.”
Gloria chuckles, “Um, Pilot Officer, you’re trying too hard. The P-40 is a decent plane, but it is nowhere near the best fighter of the war. Besides, the pilot matters as much as the plane.”
Colbert feigns offense, “You malign our plane. You wound me, dear. Ah, but I must assume it is due to lack of knowledge. Would I but have a chance to educate you.”
Sam, solemn, “The P-40 is a good plane, but it lacked high altitude performance. Some issue with the supercharger. My wingman, Thud, would know.”
Rogers cocks his head and frowns, “What to you do for the Yank military, ma’am.”
“We, Gloria and I, fly the Grumman F-14 Tomcat air superiority fighter. It’s the best fighter in the war, though the Japanese F-15’s are damn good.”
Rogers says, “Okay, I’ve heard of you. You’re the group that roughed up the Nips in the Philippines and Tokyo. I got it right?”
Gloria says, “That’s us. Well, our air group did.”
Colbert asks, “The yanks let Sheila’s fly fighters?”
Sam just smiles and Gloria says, “Yes, the U.S. Navy has come to it’s senses. We’re pretty damn good at it, too.”
CAG’S OFFICE, USS CARL VINSON
1440, 4 FEBRUARY, 1942
Admiral Lee knocks and walks into his old office. Captain Holtz looks up, and Lee asks, “Got a moment, Captain?”
“Yes, sir. Always. Care for a cup of coffee?”
Lee gets a cup, looks at it, “Hmm, my old cup. It’ll do. Tell me about Tokyo.”
“It’s all in the report. Had to launch early. We got jumped by F-4’s over Tokyo, then the BG was attacked by Harpoon’s via ‘15J’s.”
“Tell me what’s not in the report.”
“Well, I got hit by a lucky shot from a Zero and left the flight after Tokyo. We lost Chaos, Smooth, Book, Bismark, and Knot Head. What do you mean, Admiral?”
“You included the total kill count for each squadron, but not for each pilot. How did they do? And, in private, call me Rick, Jim.”
“You want to know how your protegee did?”
“I want to know about all of them.”
Papa pulls out a log book, “Okay, here are the totals. She has 35 kills.” He hands Lee the book.
“Okay, I want a copy of this. Damn, Thud and Speedy have 31, good.”
“Yeah, terminally shy Thud turns into a tiger in the air. Are you going to make Thud and Spike instructors?”
“I’d love to, but they have nothing to fly yet. What happened to Book?”
“Like the report says, he was shot down fighting the F’15s.”
“Are you telling me it all worked out between him and Spike. Too convenient. What happened to Chief White. I know he wasn’t in the berthing during GQ.”
“I’ve been sworn to secrecy on that.”
“Has she?”
“Don’t ask her, Rick. Just don’t.”
“You know I’m going to find out, Jim. I’m NAVAIR jets. You all work for me.”
“I work for Halsey. Bring it up with him. Better yet, Rick, just let it lie.”
KINGS WHARF, GARDEN ISLAND
0035, 5 FEBRUARY, 1942
A gray sedan pulls up near the officer’s brow. Sam, Gloria, and the two Australian Air Force officers get out. Sam waves her arm at the carrier, “We’ll, gentlemen, there she is, the USS Carl Vinson in all her glory.”
Rogers says a hushed, “Bloody hell. I didn’t know anything that big could float.”
A black sedan pulls up and Admiral Lee gets out, takes a step toward the group and hesitates.
Gloria says, “She floats, and she kicks some serious ass. That,
boys, is our home.”
Colbert asks, pointing to the planes sticking out over the edge of the flight deck, “Which bird is yours, my dear Lieutenant?”
Gloria laughs, “Mine, dear sir, is one of those on the stern. The back of the boat for you land lubbers.”
Rogers looks at Sam “And yours?”
Sam says, “Mine is the third up from the back on the elevator. I at least try to remember where I park the…car.” She sees Lee, “Gentlemen, would you excuse me.”
Lee smiles as she walks up to him, but she does not smile back.
“Walk with me, Samantha.”
“It’s Samantha now? On the quarterdeck you didn’t even look at me.”
“It’s…it’s complicated, Sam. We…I… Samantha, I’m an admiral. I can’t go acting unseemly, especially not in 1942.”
“Eisenhower shagged his secretary. It’s not like we are…Richard, we are friends? I can call you Richard, right?”
“In private. When we’re around others…you understand.”
“Yes. Nothing has changed there. How are you doing, Rick? How’s Washington.”
“Washington is crazy. We’re trying our best to bring war production up to speed so you guys can get parts, replacements, everything.”
“How are you?”
“I’m okay. I miss the boat, the guys. I miss talking to you. Samantha, you are good at making the conversation about me. How are you? What happened over Tokyo?”
“You’ve read the report, right? It’s all in there?”
“No, it isn’t. What happened to Chief White? He wasn’t in berthing during an attack.”
“No, is that what they said? Okay, I kind of asked for that. Rick, it’s over. Why is it important? Does the Navy doubt Halsey?”
“No, Samantha. The Navy is fine. I want to know if you are. I smell cover-up.”
“You know Book’s dead, right?”
“Yes, I know. Are you going to trust me?”
“It isn’t that simple,” and she allows herself to cry, “It’s hard to talk about.”
They reach the end of the wharf and can see across the bay the muted lights of Sydney, even with a black out. Her tears glint in the star light and Lee moves closer and gently wipes them from her cheeks. “What happened?”