by M. L. Maki
They return the weights to their racks and get down on the mat. Planks, push-ups, yoga stretches, squat-thrusts, shot-gun squats, working their abdominals to the max. She grins at Puck as she towels off, “Bet I can do more pull-ups.”
“You’re on.”
They both wrap their hands on the bar at the same time, and begin. Puck counting, “One…two…three…,” and on, until at 15 Sam drops off. Puck smiles and keeps going, dropping off at twenty
“Show off. Good work out.” She goes to the mat and does cool down stretches. Taking her time and letting her muscles ease out and relax.
CAPTAIN’S CONFERENCE ROOM, USS CARL VINSON,
200 MILES SOUTH OF PORTSMOUTH, ENGLAND
1925, 10 MARCH, 1942
Spike and Papa are sitting across from Captain Johnson as Captain Van Zandt and the intel officer brief them in on the war in Britain. Van Zandt says, “The last attack happened yesterday. Over 100 German aircraft hit Portsmouth and London. They hit dry docks and aviation targets. They hit specific military targets and morale targets. They damaged Buckingham Palace. From what I understand, the King and Queen are okay.”
Holtz asks, “The morale of the people? How are the supplies holding up?”
The intel officer LCDR Guiles, says, “The morale is still high. The harder the Germans push, the tougher the Brits get. They’ve been rationing for several years. The war department has promised to keep your unit supplied with everything you need. Food, fuel, ammo, and parts as we start making them.”
Spike asks, “Most of the parts an F-14 needs are one of a kind. Can we have the locals make them for us?”
Van Zandt answers, “I’ll ask Halsey, but it is probably a presidential decision, so for now, no.”
Papa asks, “What do you know about the air field at Alconbury?”
“I know the field is freshly paved to our required specs and 7500…Attention on deck.”
Halsey walks into the room, “Carry on. Where are we?”
Van Zandt replies, “Fielding questions, sir. It was asked if the British could help make parts and components for the aircraft.”
Halsey says, “Absolutely not. That is out of the question. Parts will be shipped once they are available from American sources. That brings me to another thing. Commander Hunt, you have gotten into the habit of speaking your mind. Don’t.”
Sam’s face flushes, and she looks straight ahead.
Halsey continues, “Any requests should be submitted through Captain Holtz and the Army Air Corp liaison officer that has been assigned. I don’t need you mouthing off and creating a diplomatic mess.”
Her eyes meet Halsey’s, and she presses her lips together, staring at him. Johnson and Holtz look at each other, puzzled.
Halsey continues, “You really pissed off the Governor of Australia. I want none of that.”
Holtz says, “Sir, I will be the one doing all the outside interactions. It’s not like she will dine with the Queen. Our base is out in the hinterlands. It’s going to be fine.”
Sam silently stares at Halsey.
“Your presence there will attract attention. Just…just keep her away from the press. That is the last thing we need.”
Holtz says, “Yes, sir.
Halsey asks, “Any other questions?”
Holtz asks, “Will we be integrated with the British radar net for raid warning?”
“I understand that’s the plan, but I do not know the status.”
Holtz continues, “You made a good point about the press, sir. Are we able to draw someone from the PAO’s office?”
“I can arrange it. I want to be clear, Captain. I want the women out of the lime light. No royal nonsense. Nothing.”
Sam’s gaze has not wavered, and now Halsey avoids her eyes.
Holtz says, “Sir, I understand, should Churchill or the King want to meet the squadron, I am to tell them no.”
“Captain, you know what I mean.”
“Yes, sir.”
Halsey asks, “Any further questions?”
Papa says, “No, sir.”
Spike says, “No, sir.”
They get up and leave, and Captain Johnson motions for the others to leave as well. “Admiral, a word?”
“Of course, Captain.”
“Sir, it seems to me, you are putting Commander Hunt in an impossible situation. You want to keep the leading American ace out of the lime light while she defends our staunchest ally.”
“You are aware of what she did after Wake? She has a tendency to mouth off and here if she does so, it could be a disaster. I agree, it’s a tight rope, but it seems to me I’ve no choice.”
Johnson regards him for a moment, “As I recall, she never said a word to the Governor. I don’t quite understand this situation. Also, sir, do you know why she was so passionate about Wake Island?”
“Does it matter?”
“I believe so, sir. Her father is a Marine. As far as she knew at the time, her father was on Wake Island. Your decision to delay supporting the Marines could have quite easily killed her father.”
“Her father would be too old to serve overseas.”
“Her father is younger than she is. He’s eighteen, sir, and currently at Camp Pendleton in training. I checked, and I told her.”
“The time travel thing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank your for sharing this, good day, Captain.”
“Sir, this is my conference room.”
FLIGHT DECK, USS CARL VINSON, 100 MILES SOUTH OF PORTSMOUTH
0630, 13 MARCH, 1942
As Sam walks out on the deck, AOCS Bond walks up and salutes, shouting over the deck noise, “Ma’am, we’re all packed up and ready to off load. I’ve made sure all the squadron has had the port brief. We’re ready to go. It’s going to be weird leaving the ship to be stationed in Britain.”
“I know, Fluffy, but needs must. Thank you and see you at Alconbury.”
He salutes again, she returns it, and walks to her bird. Puck has already finished the pre-flight check when she joins him.
A GERMAN AIRFIELD
0730 local time, 13 MARCH, 1942
Colonel Getz walks into the briefing room. One hundred-fourteen air crew are waiting with the intelligence and weather people waiting to brief him and his men. As he walks to the head of the room, they all stand at attention. He surveys the room, nodding. They are all experienced pilots. It’s a shame none of the other pilots who came back wished to be part of this. They are rotting in prison, and he…he is a decorated war hero. “At ease. Men, today is a historic day. Today we burn the parliament building in London to the ground. Cultural buildings are back on the list.”
He pauses as they cheer. “We will break the will of the British. They will be so heartbroken, they will ask us to march in and cheer them up.”
Again, they cheer. “So, what do our friends from weather and intelligence have for us?” He sits down in the front.
The weatherman comes forward, “Our submarines report good killing weather coming into the London area today. There will be light clouds at 30,000 feet, but otherwise, it will be clear with unlimited visibility and winds at about 10 knots from the southwest. Further north, it will still be heavy overcast and rain. One thing, it sounds to me like the people of London have a forecast of heavy explosives with frequent showers of lead.”
The aviators laugh.
As the weatherman walks away, the intelligence officer puts up pictures, “These are our latest reconnaissance photos over London. We can expect more barrage balloons, as it is the only answer for our jets they seem to have. Newspaper reports that Churchill has been pleading for help from the Americans, but the Americans are powerless to help. The American aircraft carrier is still in the Pacific and they totally lack the infrastructure to ferry aircraft to here. That said, the primary target, as Herr Colonel stated, is the Parliament buildings.”
Getz interrupts, “You said the American carrier is in the Pacific. Do we know exactly where?”<
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“No, Herr Colonel. We have had no reports of its location since it left Sydney, Australia. But, our submarines stationed at the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Horne, and at Egypt have not reported sightings. You told us yourself that it is too big for the Panama Canal. That said, we have no indication it is in the Atlantic.”
“They are building a proper airfield in the Fens. They do not do so for nothing. Have any submarines failed to report?”
The U-116 at Cape Horne is two days overdue, but that is not so unusual given the stormy seas there.”
“Or the submarine may be on the bottom and the Americans are approaching. Two days. We should have one more free attack. Tomorrow, if clear weather holds to the south, we will sweep for them. If any of our submarines report a sighting, we must make every effort at sinking it. If we destroy the carrier, they lose their aircraft as well. It is of equal importance to kill the ground crews. As we know, skilled ground crews for jets are hard to come by. Thank you, Major.”
BLACK KNIGHTS SQUADRON, AT 40,000 FEET,
SOUTH OF EASTERN ENGLAND
0645, 13 MARCH, 1942
The squadron is scattered over the sky in loose deuce formations. As they climb through 40,000 feet, Puck says, “I’m ready to do quick sweeps to see if we’re alone up here.”
“Yes, go ahead.” She wiggles her wings to alert Thud, “Let me know if you need to change course.”
“Let’s swing right about 20.”
“Roger,” and does an easy 20-degree right turn.
“Crap,” then on radio, “All units, raid warning. Over 100 aircraft west bound, approaching the channel at 600 knots on the deck.” To Spike, “Radar off.”
“Set up a volley, then we’ll pounce out of the sun.”
“Knights, form line abreast. Come to course 028 and descend. Illuminate and volley on command.”
Spike turns onto the designated course as the rest of her squadron form up alongside in a line. Once in place they begin to descend. The dive steepens and their wings fold back as they pick up speed and the Tomcats smoothly break the speed of sound.
Then, Puck, “Illuminate.” To Spike, “We have lock.” On radio, “Fox one, Fox one.”
Spike pickles off two AIM-7s and the rest of the squadron follows suit. Twenty missiles streak toward the German formation.
COLONEL GETZ’S MIG-29, 100 FEET OVER THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
His radar receiver gave a brief blip earlier. He ignored it thinking its scatter from the nearby land-based radar. This time he knows better. He pulls his nose up and releases all the ordinance he is carrying. “Drop bombs and engage.” With a quick high G maneuver, he breaks the missile lock, but in his peripheral vision he sees fire balls where once there were aircraft. “Damn, damn, damn. Intel was wrong. The Americans are here.”
KNIGHT 12,000 FEET OVER SOUTHEAST ENGLAND
Spike follows her missiles in. There are so many German aircraft. She sees both of her missiles find targets, then meets a third plane, head to head. She rolls on afterburners, pulls the stick back in a reverse, and grunts, “MiG-29, grunt.”
Puck, “Thud, right and high.”
She sees her opponent crossing her in a vertical scissors, “This guy knows how to fight. Grunt.”
“One high, six. Thud has him.”
They hear Speedy, “Guns, guns.”
She reverses again in the vertical. Her opponent reverses behind them, slowing his craft. “He’s trying to burn us out of air speed, where he is strong. Reversing, guns. Grunt.”
Puck, “Guns, guns.”
She applies full right rudder and idles back her right engine, leaving her left in zone one afterburner. The F-14 whips around outside of controlled flight. As they spin for a brief second the MiG will cross in front of her. She squeezes the trigger right before the MiG crosses. They are so close, she sees the rounds hit as he flashes by. She counters the spin with her right engine up and her left engine back. The F-14 straightens and out of air speed it rolls on it’s back. She pulls the stick back and dives, accelerating away. “Where is he?”
“He’s bugging out, Spike. They are all bugging out. Thud’s below us. Do we chase?”
“Not the mission. Regroup.”
“All Knights form on us. Check in.”
After the squadron checks in, Spike says, “My God, Puck. We didn’t lose anybody.”
On the radio, “Knight squadron, Gold Eagle. Report.”
Puck, “Gold Eagle, Knight 1. We engaged one hundred plus aircraft. We splashed several. No aircraft lost. The enemy has bugged out toward France. We are climbing back up to establish a CAP.”
“Knight 1, Gold Eagle, acknowledge. Continue on mission.”
COLONEL GETZ, OVER WESTERN FRANCE
Getz ponders his situation. He’s lost fifteen aircraft in one pass, eighteen overall. Even at their best, he doesn’t know if his old squadron would do so well. The pilot he faced was very good. When he met him, he knew the scissors and didn’t hesitate. When he tried to get him into his envelope, he rejected it. How did he turn so fast? He needed to look into that. He was very, very good. The F-14, he’d faced them before, but never flown as this pilot flew. It changed everything. They may attack us on the ground. So much to do. On the radio, “Keep your eyes alert. They may follow us to our home.”
CHAPTER 18
ELECTRONIC DEVELOPMENT CAMPUS, RICHLAND, WASHINGTON
1030, 13 March, 1942
Captain Richardson sits looking out the window of his new office. He’s on the fourth floor of a huge manufacturing building designed and built to his standards. The morning sun makes the otherwise dismal view pretty. The dark line in the foreground is the Columbia River. Other than that, all you can see is arid gray and tan with scrub brush. The trucks traffic is constant now, that things are finally coming together. His assistant, Lauri Talbot, brings in the mail and a cup of tea, “Your mail, sir. Your friend, Commander Hunt, sent you a letter. It’s on top.”
“Thank you, Lauri.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s a fighter pilot. She commands the Black Knight squadron. We met on the Carl Vinson.”
“There’s a woman commanding a fighter squadron? Why isn’t that in the news?”
“Right now, the Navy is trying to keep it discrete. It will blow up in the news soon enough.”
There’s a knock on the door, it opens, and Commander Penelope Severn walks in, “Hi, Captain, nice digs.”
“Hi Penny, I just got a letter from Sam.”
“Cool beans. How is she?” and sits down. Lauri pours her a cup of tea. “Thank you, Lauri.”
He continues reading, “She is, or was, in Australia. Australia is great. Hmm, she went to a dinner at Government House. Anyway, what can I do for you, Penny?”
“The latest batch of casing material is the wrong alloy. I ordered 17-4PH stainless steel and they sent me copper nickel. I’m just trying to decide if I ought to write a stern memo or throttle someone.”
“Is it Kaiser?”
“Yes. I ordered to MIL SPEC, but they sent me the wrong stuff.”
“Send the stern letter. I need to head out there tomorrow for some other meetings. I’ll give them a little talk as well, perhaps suggesting military orders could go elsewhere. Have you heard from Frank?”
“Yes, he writes now and then. He’s getting really good at saying stuff without saying stuff.”
“What stuff.”
“They’re getting low on missiles. I have to get this sorted out.”
“You can’t ship them until I finish the cards. It’ll be awhile. We have a building. I’m waiting for the FABs. They’re being built by machine shops all over the country. God knows it if will all fit together.”
“Whose idea was it to split manufacturing?”
“The war production board. They’re doing it for security reasons. We’re just going to have to live with it.”
“At least they put our factories on the same campus. My new building is great and it went up fast.”
“In another month or so, I should be able to start making silicon wafers. But, I still need to build a laser that lasts more than ten days. It’s going to take time, Penny. Nothing for it. We both know how important it is to get this done. As Admiral Klindt says…”
In unison, “Work the problem, don’t be the problem.”
ALCONBURY RAF BASE, ENGLAND
1046, 13 MARCH, 1942
Spike and Thud descend over the beautiful green countryside of Cambridgeshire, raindrops streaking their canopies. They flare and land on the new runway. Their tires chirp almost in unison and they slow as they approach the far taxiway. They’re directed where to stop, and as their engines spool down, men are pulling hoses from a fuel truck. “Okay, Puck. Potty break.” She climbs out of the jet and walks quickly toward a hard shelter. As she nears the open door, she hears more F-14s landing.
The hard shelter is made of concrete and covered in a thick layer of dirt and grass. The interior is spartan, but there is a bathroom against the back wall. Business done, she sees Gloria hobbling toward her. Meeting on the tarmac outside, Gloria salutes, “Permission to pee freely.”
Sam returns the salute, smiling, “Go, Gloria. See you in the air.” As she walks to her plane, a C-2 Greyhound lands.
Puck is walking around their bird as she returns, “No new holes and we are topped off with fuel. Did we hit the last target?”
“I’m pretty sure, yes, but hard to say. He was good. Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t think a German from 1990 would fight for Hitler.”
“I know, we need to think about that.”
The C-2 taxis to a stop near them. All the Black Knights planes are lined up on the tarmac. A-6 Intruders come in to land, two by two. Fluffy walks off the C-2, seeming too muscular for his flight deck uniform. His shouts are lost over the jet noise, but soon sailors are coming out of the cargo plane pulling ordinance. He walks up and salutes, “Ma’am, we just have a handful of missiles, but we’ll spread them around. Do you need twenty mike?”