Acts of War

by James Young

  If Aldrich was non-plussed that Eric didn’t give him any more information the man did not show it.

  “It would appear that you have met our erstwhile adversaries the Kriegsmarine,” Aldrich replied. “I take it that you, then, are the aircraft who sent the position report in the clear?”

  “That would be us,” Eric replied. Aldrich smiled.

  “Well thank you for not making my wife a widow,” Aldrich said. At Eric’s look, Aldrich just smiled.

  “I am sure Captain Gordon will explain everything to you if he sees fit. Until then, please enjoy our hospitality. Leftenant Cobb, you appear to have taken a pretty good knock on the head. I’ll need to check you out once we get aboard.”

  Eric started to nod, then realized that would be very foolish.

  “That would probably be a good idea,” he began, then belatedly added, “sir.”

  Ten minutes later, Eric stood watching Aldrich’s finger as the young-looking officer moved his hand back and forth. The two men were standing in Exeter’s port dressing station, a space that was normally the petty officers’ mess. When the heavy cruiser was getting ready to enter combat, the space was set aside for casualty treatment and stabilization before the unfortunate subjects were taken to sick bay below.

  “You mentioned something about me saving your wife from becoming a widow?” Eric asked after a moment.

  “Yes, I did,” Aldrich replied.

  “Sir, I can tell the ship is at Condition Two,” Eric continued. “Obviously you guys are expecting a fight. I got sort of confused after getting shot up, but weren’t the Germans a bit far away for you to be preparing for combat?”

  “Very astute observation, Leftenant,” another voice interjected. Eric saw the two ratings in the room jump to their feet, followed at a more leisurely pace by Rawles. Eric started to turn his head to see what they were looking at.

  “I will not be able to tell if you have a concussion if you turn your head, Leftenant Cobb,” Aldrich said, causing Eric to stop his movement. “Captain Gordon, sir,” he said, nodding towards the door.

  “Leftenant Aldrich,” Captain Gordon replied. “I see you’ve been fishing again.”

  Aldrich smiled as he finished moving his finger back and forth.

  “I think this one is a tad bit large to have thrown back, Captain,” Aldrich said, stepping back. “We’re done here, Leftenant.”

  Eric turned around, well aware of his sorry appearance in a borrowed pair of Royal Navy overalls. Rawles and he had both gladly handed over their waterlogged clothes in exchange for dry clothing, but now he felt vaguely self-conscious in meeting the Exeter’s master. Gordon was a man of slightly above average height, with piercing eyes and gray, thinning hair topping an aristocratic face.

  “Well, I must agree,” Gordon said, giving Eric a pensive look. “I suppose you play what you Americans call football?”

  “I did, sir,” Eric replied. “For the Naval Academy.”

  “Barbaric sport,” Gordon said. “Can’t see why anyone would enjoy watching roughly twenty men bash each other’s brains out over some poor pig’s hide.”

  Eric found himself starting to smile as he contemplated a comeback. Gordon continued without giving him a chance to defend American honor.

  “But, that’s not what you were talking about to Leftenant Aldrich, and time is short. Our mission, when you sighted us, was to gain contact with the German fleet so that we could ascertain its position.”

  Eric nodded, starting to get a glimmer of understanding.

  “Since our own aviators believed that the weather was far too much of a dog’s breakfast to fly, the task fell upon the Home Fleet’s cruisers, or more correctly, what cruisers broke out of Scapa Flow with His Majesty.”

  “Broke out of Scapa Flow?” Eric asked, confused.

  Gordon and Aldrich shared a look.

  “You are aware of the armistice signed a fortnight ago, yes?”

  “The one between you guys and the Krauts? Yes, sir, I’m aware.”

  “There was some fine print agreed to by Lord Halifax’s negotiators that did not sit well with the King,” Gordon continued simply. “Namely the part about turning over the occupied nations’ governments-in-exile and all of their forces that had fought under our command.”

  “That part was not covered in our briefings,” Eric replied.

  Of course, we’ve been at sea ever since it looked like you guys were about to be knocked out of the war, he didn’t add. Eric was certain the term “neutral country” would lose all meaning. if the full details of the USN’s actions to facilitate Great Britain’s war efforts ever came to light.

  Which may explain why the Krauts turned two American aircraft into colanders.

  “This breakout wasn’t exactly long in the planning, Leftenant,” Gordon replied with a tight smile. “However, this is of no matter. What is important is that the Home Fleet and a few fast liners did manage to break out. What we did not expect was for the Germans to have anticipated our decision and placed submarines in our path.”

  Eric fought to keep the astonishment off of his face.

  The submarines were part of the reason you guys had to surrender! he thought, incredulous.

  “The Queen Mary, carrying a large contingent of forces, was torpedoed last night,” Gordon continued, either not reading Eric’s brief change of expression or choosing to ignore it. “She did not sink, but her speed was greatly slowed. This morning, it was decided to offload her passengers and scuttle the vessel.”

  Eric looked at Aldrich and then Captain Gordon.

  “I am coming to the reason behind Leftenant Aldrich’s comment,” Gordon said with a slight smile. “Before the fleet departed Scapa Flow, there were reports that the German fleet was expected to sortie in order to attempt to intercept the Royal Family and compel their return. They were believed to be another two hundred miles east of the position you radioed.”

  I am beginning to understand now, Eric thought.

  “As I noted, our own pilots did not think the conditions were suitable for flying as dawn broke. Which is why this vessel is currently part of a picket line, and as Leftenant Aldrich alluded to, would have likely encountered Jerry much as you did—guns first.”

  Eric could hear the disdain in Gordon’s voice and decided to intercede on behalf of his British counterparts.

  “Sir, with all due respect, the weather is too bad to be flying,” he said bitterly. “Our commander volunteered the most experienced pilots in our squadron, and even then he had to persuade Admiral No…our admiral to allow us to fly.”

  Gordon’s small smile broadened.

  “Lieutenant Cobb, I am well aware that you are off of the aircraft carrier Ranger, specifically from VB-4. I am also aware that your signal was picked up by the cruiser Augusta and that your commander, apparently, perished. Finally, I am aware that Rear Admiral Noyes is under strict orders not to engage in direct combat with the Kriegsmarine unless they cross the established neutrality line.”

  This time the surprise was far too great for Eric to maintain any hint of a poker face.

  “Guess I could have passed on tossing the codebooks over the side,” Rawles said coolly.

  “Unfortunately, Leftenant, the manner by which I know all this information also means that your fleet realizes we have plucked you out of the Atlantic. That,” Gordon continued, his smile disappearing, “places us in a bit of a quandary.”

  Gordon turned towards Rawles and the two ratings in the room.

  “Gentlemen, if you could excuse us?” he asked, the tone of his voice belying the appearance of his question being a request. Eric was glad to see Rawles follow the two men out into the passageway.

  “As I was saying, your presence here places us into a bit of a fix. You, Leftenant, are an officer of a neutral nation. More importantly a neutral nation with certain elements who would gladly seize upon your death or serious injury in order to support the agenda of keeping your nation from rendering His Majesty’s govern
ment any aid. I am sure that you are familiar with the term ‘impressment’ as it applies to our nations’ shared histories?”

  Eric nodded, starting to see where Gordon was going.

  We fought a minor debacle in 1812 over just that issue as I recall, Eric thought somberly.

  “So, in order to avoid any discussions of that sort of thing, I have consulted with my superiors. We can hardly just stuff you in a whaleboat and leave you in the middle of the Atlantic. Therefore, I am here to offer you a choice to transfer to the H.M.S. Punjabi. This vessel will then be tasked with escorting the liners out of harm’s way, and that is probably the safest thing we can provide at the moment.”

  Well, no, you could actually return me to American forces or put me on a neutral vessel, Eric thought sharply, but decided some things were best left unvoiced.

  “What effect will this have on your force?” he asked instead.

  Gordon paused for a few moments, and Eric could see the wheels turning in the British captain’s head.

  “The effects would not be positive,” Gordon finally answered. The man then took a deep sigh, with the breaking of his mental dam almost perceptible.

  “The division of destroyers with us is one of two that departed Scapa Flow with their actual assigned crews, full complement of torpedoes, and allotted depth charges,” Exeter’s captain said, his voice clipped. “The size of the German force is unknown, but it is highly unlikely that our advantage is so great that we can afford to lose a destroyer before the action begins. The choice, however, is yours Leftenant Cobb.”

  The silence in the compartment after Gordon’s explanation seemed to press in on Eric. At least thirty seconds passed, with Gordon growing perceptibly impatient, before the American replied.

  “We were briefed before we departed Newport News that our forces were to make every effort to avoid giving the impression that we were aiding RN forces,” he said, and watched Captain Gordon’s face start to fall. “However, we were also instructed to respond to hostile acts in kind. Those bastards killed my squadron commander and nearly killed me. While I hesitate to give them another chance to finish the job, I’ll be damned if I’ll make their lives easier.”

  Gordon exhaled heavily.

  “You do realize that when I transmit this news to Admiral Tovey your own forces are going to overhear it, correct?”

  Eric shrugged.

  “If I end up in Leavenworth it means no one else will be shooting at me,” Eric replied grimly. “Seems to me that the situation is bad enough if I force you to take this ship out of the line, the. After what they did to London, I’m not sure I want them to catch the King or his family.”

  Eric saw several emotions flit across Gordon’s face. The man was about to respond when the ship’s loudspeaker crackled. Both men turned to look at the speaker mounted at the front of the compartment.

  “Captain to the bridge,” a calm, measured voice spoke. “I say again, Captain to the bridge.”

  “Last chance to back out, Leftenant,” Captain Gordon said, heading for the companionway hatch.

  “We’ll stay, sir,” Eric said, right before a thought struck him. “However, I do have one request.”

  “What would that be, Leftenant?”

  “Do you think that His Majesty could consider asking President Roosevelt to give me a pardon? You know, just in case?”

  Gordon stopped dead for a second, confusion on his face. Still looking befuddled, he shrugged.

  “I’ll be sure to pass along your request,” the British officer allowed. “Even though I am unsure as to what you are referring to.”

  Eric smiled.

  “I’m sure His Majesty will have someone who can advise him as to what I mean,” Eric replied. Gordon shook his head and opened the hatch. There was a quick exchange of words with Aldrich that Eric couldn’t quite hear, then the man was gone. A moment later, Lieutenant Aldrich stepped back through the door.

  “What is your hat size, Leftenant?” Aldrich asked.

  “Seven inches even,” Eric said.

  “I’ll see what we can find in the way of a helmet for you.”

  Eric felt and heard the Exeter’s engines begin to accelerate. Aldrich’s face clouded as the loudspeaker crackled again. A few moments later, the sound of a bugle call came over the device followed by the same clipped voice as before calling the crew to “Action Stations”.

  “Well now, it appears that our German friends have been sighted once more,” Aldrich said grimly as he walked towards the speaking tube at the back of the compartment. “Either that or Jerry’s bloody U-boats are at it again.”

  Eric suddenly thought about the implications of either of those events and didn’t like what he was coming up with. Rawles and the two British seamen reentered the compartment as Aldrich began calling down to the ship’s store for a helmet. Eric gave a wry smile as he saw that Rawles had already been given a helmet. The pie plate-shaped headgear looked slightly different than its American counterpart, but close enough that Eric was sure the gunner wouldn’t have looked too out of place aboard Ranger.

  “I see that our hosts have already seen to your comforts, Rawles,” Eric teased his gunner.

  “I’d be a lot more comfortable with a pair of guns in my hand aboard a Dauntless, sir,” Rawles said, his voice tight. Eric could see the man was nervous, and he didn’t blame him. He was about to make another comment when Aldrich’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Right, understood, I will send Leftenant Cobb to the bridge with the runner while his gunner remains here,” the medical officer said into the tube. “Aldrich out.”

  “Did I just hear what I think I did?” Eric asked, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

  “The captain is afraid that one shell will kill you both,” Aldrich replied simply. “That would be bad for a great many reasons.”

  I hate it when people have a point, Eric thought. At least, I hate it when said point means I’m about to get a front row seat to people shooting guns at me.

  “Well it’s hard to argue with that logic,” Eric said, looking up as a man arrived in the hatchway with his helmet and flash gear. “Rawles, try to stay out of the rum.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Rawles replied, his expression still sour.

  “Midshipman Radcliffe, you are in charge until I get back,” Aldrich said, then turned to Eric. “Given what I’ve been told, there’s enough time to give you a quick tour of the vessel before I drop you off at the bridge. That is, if you’d like a quick tour.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Eric said. “I did a midsummer cruise on the U.S.S. Salt Lake City, so it will be interesting to see how differently your side does things.”

  U.S.S. Houston

  Cavite Naval Base

  2020 Local (0820 Eastern)

  13 September (12 September)

  Whereas most men would have felt butterflies in their stomach prior to meeting their boss, Commander Jacob T. Morton found himself hoping that the rage and bitterness he felt did not show on his lined face. He took a deep, steadying breath as the orderly returned from inside the captain’s day cabin.

  “Captain Wallace will see you now, sir,” the marine said, coming to attention.

  “Thank you, corporal,” Jacob replied, his accent betraying his Maine roots. With that, he stepped through the hatchway. Stepping forward to three steps before the desk of Houston’s master, he saluted.

  “Commander Jacob Morton reporting as ordered, sir,” Jacob said crisply. Standing well over six feet, with a tall, gangly frame, Jacob forced the short, heavyset man standing behind the desk to slightly crane his head back as he returned the salute of the Houston’s newest XO.

  “When I heard they called you ‘The Stork,’ I wondered how someone got a nickname like that,” Captain Sean Wallace observed drily, his Texas twang quite evident. “Now I see a slight resemblance to you and a crane. Please, take a seat before I develop a crick in my neck.”

  Jacob’s expression didn’t change, his green eyes co
ntinuing to hold Wallace’s brown ones as he followed orders.

  “Why do they call you ‘The Stork,’ if I may ask?” Wallace continued.

  Why do people always ask if a question is okay after it’s already been said? Jacob thought.

  “Plebe boxing class, sir,” Jacob replied. “One of my opponents stated fighting me was like being attacked by an angry stork. It stuck.”

  Captain Wallace nodded, running a hand through his thinning brown hair.

  “Horrible class, that,” Wallace replied. “I think that’s probably the worst experience I’ve ever had in my life. I take it that you did all right?”

  “I boxed in the Brigade intramurals,” Jacob replied evenly. “I placed second in the light heavyweight class.”

  Wallace smiled.

  “Well, glad to see your aggressiveness won’t be a problem,” he said with a smile. “Its part of the reason you’re here. But before we get started, would you like me to have the mess send up something? There should be sandwiches or something available, I realize you’re probably famished after coming all the way out from Pearl.”

  “No thank you, sir, I actually ate before coming aboard,” Jacob said. “I will, with your permission, have some of that water in the corner however.”

  “By all means,” Wallace said, gesturing towards the pitcher and glasses. As Jacob stood, Houston’s captain began their discussion.

  “I understand that you were somewhat surprised when BuPers cut your orders.”

  “It’s rare that an officer is requested by name, much less by someone he has never met,” Jacob replied cautiously. “Serving twice as an XO is lucky, but three times is unheard of.”

  Wallace grimaced.

  “When Captain Rooks got cancer three months ago it was a shock to the entire wardroom,” Wallace replied. “Admiral Hart offered every one of the officers the opportunity to transfer to other vessels, and most of the division chiefs were reassigned throughout the fleet or sent back to Pearl. I only requested that Admiral Hart give me the most experienced XO possible, and apparently your name was selected.”