Fighting Her Father's War: The FIghting Tomcats

by M. L. Maki

  Issa sighs, “Stow it.”

  Soon the four are in their dress whites. Issa, Zoo, BJ, and Mac change next. When they’re done, Issa says, “Stow the rifles. No one here has ever seen and M-16.” Grumbling, they put their long arms in their duffle bags with their uniforms and gear.

  Grunt asks, “Sir, what about the sidearms?”

  “They look close enough to 1911s.”

  “Sir, no one used ballistic nylon, though.”

  “True, but it’s close enough to the cotton they did use.” Issa signals for a line march ahead and they walk out, fully exposed, to the road. Issa tells the point man, “Pearl Harbor, and walk casual. Remember, we are among friends.”

  Broke Dick says, “Isn’t that what Tonto told the Lone Ranger?”

  Grunt says, “Sure, and Tonto was.”

  A truck comes up behind them and rolls to a stop. The driver looks out at them from a vintage 1930s Ford truck, stake bed. “You boys are a long way from Pearl. Where’re you headed?”

  Issa answers, “Our first day on the island, we’re supposed to drive a truck to Wheeler, but I took a wrong turn and ended up stuck. Could you give us a lift to the motor pool at Pearl?”

  “Sure, I’m headed that way. Hop in. Where’d you get stuck? I have a bit of time. Maybe I can yank it out and save you some embarrassment.” The team climbs in the back and Issa gets into the cab.

  It’s an idea. Thing is, I’m not sure where we left it. It ought to be easy enough to find in the daylight. Guess, I should just bite the bullet.”

  They hear a slap on the cab and the driver says, “Okey dokey,” puts the truck I gear and moves out. “My name is Oliver Smith.”

  “I’m Rob Issa. Lt. Issa.”

  “Pleased to meet you, all kinds of new folks arriving since the Japs bombed us. More work for me, though, and the money is good. Has Halsey found those bastards yet?”

  “I would read it in the papers same as you.”

  “Now, I doubt that, son. I doubt that. What’s that gold thing on your chest?”

  “Oh, this?” fingering his Budweiser, “This is a Navy Special Forces pin.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “It means I’m really good at keeping my shoes polished.”

  “Okay, here we are at the gate. The motor pool is just a bit further on Russell Street.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  A gate guard pops up onto the running board, “Good morning, Oliver, morning Lieutenant.”

  Oliver says, “I picked me up some strays down the road apiece. Seems they got themselves stuck.”

  The guard looks at Issa, “Master Chief Oakley is gonna love you.” Issa gives him the officer stink eye, and “Um, sorry sir, go on through.”

  In a couple of minutes, they are unloading at the motor pool, the sun just coming up as Oliver drives off. Broke Dick, says, “Damn, I thought we were screwed at the gate.”

  Grunt says, “Trust your elders, Broke Dick. Shall we, Abdul?”

  Issa nods and walks into the office and a second class, with a cast on his right leg, says, “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, I need a truck with a canvas cover and a sedan.”

  “Sir, what command are you with?”

  “Admiral Ren’s staff.”

  “Admiral Ren, who’s he?”

  Issa leans toward him, “You don’t know him? Well, you will soon enough. We sank a Jap flat top a few days ago. Anyway, I need those vehicles.”

  “Yes, sir, if you sign these two forms, I will get the keys. I’ll give you 262, it’s a nice Ford, and the truck is a Dodge. That work?”

  “That will be fine, thank you,” signing the papers. He accepts the keys, and in a few minutes, they are loaded up and leaving the motor pool. As they drive off, a stout master chief shows up in a jeep. He gets out and stands looking after them, scratching his head, as Broke Dick waves out of the back of the truck.

  Issa riding in the back of the sedan, studies the map, “Shit, Grunt, the bridge isn’t built yet. Go straight, okay, first, um, no second right.”

  PEARL HARBOR NAVAL BASE, NIMITZ HOUSE

  The sun is up as Issa climbs out of the sedan, “Stay casual.” Straightening his jacket, he walks up the stair of the porch carrying a briefcase. Looking for a doorbell, he shrugs his shoulders, and knocks. A Philippine steward answers the door, “Yes?”

  “I need to see Admiral Nimitz.”

  “The Admiral is busy, come back later.”

  “No, Hindai. I need to see him now. Just open the door, please.”

  The steward looks out the door, “Is the Japanese attacking us?”

  A lieutenant comes up behind the steward, “What is it, Billy?”

  “This lieutenant wishes to see the Admiral. I say he is busy.”

  “Thanks, Billy, I’ll take care of this. Lieutenant, please, enter.”

  CHAPTER 34

  PEARL HARBOR NAVAL BASE, NIMITZ HOUSE, 0541, 3 JANUARY, 1942

  Issa walks into the foyer and the lieutenant puts out his hand, “Emerson David Grant, sir.”

  Issa shakes, “Robert Issa with Admiral Ren’s staff. I do need to talk to Admiral Nimitz.”

  “I’m sorry, but the Admiral really is busy, and is not to be disturbed. Who is Admiral Ren?”

  “I would rather explain it once and to the admiral. Would you be so good as to tell Admiral Nimitz that I have a message from Admiral Ren on the Gold Eagle. If I’m not mistaken, General Mc Arthur has already contacted him.”

  Emerson gives him a measuring look, “I see, the mystery unit. I’ll ask him, but no guarantees.”

  Issa paces the living room, looking it over, and under his breath, says, “He’s an admiral, the big screen tv should go right there.”

  “Lieutenant, you wanted to see me?” Issa stiffens and turns. In front of him is the legend, Admiral Chester Nimitz, CINCPAC, wearing khaki pants, slippers, and an undershirt, and there’s still shaving cream on his face. Nimitz holds out his hand.

  Issa takes it, “Lt. Issa, sir. It’s fantastic to meet you, sir.”

  “Yes, well, can you tell me what this is about?”

  “Yes, sir. Admiral Ren sent me to ask you to come out to the battle group and see it for yourself. You see, sir, we, I mean the whole group, sir, we’re from the future.”

  “Now, son, that’s the last thing I thought I would hear. How is it possible?”

  “Sir, honest truth, I’ve no idea. I’m not a technical person. I know the Admiral’s people figured it out a few days ago.”

  Grant hands Nimitz a towel and Nimitz wipes his face, “Thank you, Emerson. You mean you didn’t come back on purpose?”

  “No, sir, for us, it just happened. But we figured it out, and when we did, Admiral Ren decided to hit the Japanese at PI, because we knew from our history books they would be there.”

  Nimitz slowly lowers the towel, “Do we win?”

  “Yes, sir, but they tell me everything has changed now that we are here. With our technology, we ought to do better, sir.”

  “What’s that gold pin on your uniform?”

  “It’s the SEAL trident. It means I’m a SEAL, a navy frogman, or commando.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “We were dropped off by Sea Knight Helicopters about five miles out and we came in by small boat.”

  Grant says, “Preposterous. We have patrols. This whole thing is an elaborate practical joke of some sort.”

  Issay says, “We saw one of your patrols. I wasn’t impressed.” Then to Nimitz, “Sir, we are very good at what we do.”

  Grant says, “You believe this, sir?”

  Ignoring him, Nimitz asks, “What’s in the case?”

  Issa opens the briefcase and pulls out ‘Admiral ‘Bull’ Halsey, The Life and Wars of America’s most controversial commander’ by John Wukovitz and hands it to Nimitz. “I would have brought your memoir, but it seems you never wrote one.”

  “I haven’t done nearly enough, son.”

  Issa
says, “Perhaps not yet, but after you lead the Pacific fleet to victory…”

  Grant cuts him off, “This is ridiculous.”

  Issa pulls out gun camera photos of the sinking of the carrier Ryujo, and then a glossy color photograph of the Carl Vinson battle group. “Did all these ships come back?”

  “No, sir, one destroyer, the Hewitt failed to come back, and we lost the Stoddert to a torpedo attack before we realized what had happened.”

  “So, your ships are not invulnerable?”

  “No, sir, but they are capable. I would like to fly you out this morning, so you can see for yourself.”

  Grant says, “Why don’t you just sail on in to Pearl Harbor? Why all this intrigue?”

  Nimitz says, “They didn’t sail into Pearl because the harbor defense would take them under fire. You’re not thinking, Lieutenant Grant. Seeing as your faculties seem rather unlike your normal self, please refrain from further outbursts and do something constructive, like cancelling the meeting and calling John, Lewis, and Phil. They need to get here as soon as possible. Tell them to pack an overnight bag. You should pack one as well, and tell Billy to pack mine.”

  “Me, sir?”

  “Yes, the apostle Thomas needed to put his finger in the wounds. You ought to have the same opportunity.”

  “You mean, you believe this, sir? Time travel is impossible.”

  Lieutenant, General McArthur is a horse’s ass, but he is not insane. He saw the aircraft from the Gold Eagle and attested to the damage they caused the Japanese.”

  “But, sir?”

  “Look, Emerson, do you see his uniform?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What material is it made of?”

  “I don’t know fabrics, sir.”

  Issa says, “It’s polyester, a material derivative of the petroleum industry, and I don’t recommend it for anything, but, maybe 70’s leisure suits.”

  “It has problems, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, sir, it melts on contact with fire, leaving the wearer with burning plastic on his skin. Wool and cotton are better, even if they are a pain to maintain. Sir, how many people, and when will they be here?

  Nimitz looks over at Grant, “Five, and about a half hour, after Emerson makes the calls.”

  Grant says, “Yes, sir,” and leaves.

  Nimitz turns back to Issa, “How long have you been in the Navy, Lieutenant?”

  “I graduated from the Academy in 1984,sir. Five years, sir.”

  “Tell me about your navy commandos?”

  “Sir, we are specialized troops. We are all expert divers, swimming underwater with a breathing device. We’re expert in small arms, and a variety of aerial insertions. The missions we excel at are intelligence gathering, precision demolition or removal of high value targets, beach clearing, attacks on moored vessels, and extraction of important personnel. What we are not is normal combat troops. Marines are suited to that mission, we are not.”

  “Have you ever seen combat?”

  “I’ve patrolled to suppress insurgencies in Thailand and Cambodia. I’ve never seen any real action, though. Some of my men were in the invasion of Grenada. It was a one-sided fight, but they were involved.”

  “I see. What kind of aircraft will be riding in?”

  “Helicopters, sir. Vertical take-off and landing craft. Half of my team is setting up the LZ and the other is standing by outside.”

  “Bring them up to the house. I want to meet them.”

  “Yes, sir,” and Issa heads out.

  In a few minutes, the team, carrying their bags, walk up to the house, setting their bags down on the porch, just as Nimitz walks out. Fully dressed in his khakis, he says, “Good morning, gentlemen, what are your name?” They all salute.

  “I am BM1 Paul Bruce, sir. They call me Grunt,” and Nimitz shakes his hand.

  “I’m HM1 Larry Shockley, sir. They call me Munchkin.”

  Nimitz smiles, “Of course, they do,” shaking his hand.

  “I’m RM2 Lawrence Carbone. They call me BJ.”

  As Nimitz shakes his hand, “Why is that?”

  BJ turns red, “It’s a Guamanian thing.”

  “I’m HT2 Chris Langley. They call me Broke Dick.”

  Nimitz smiles, “Why?” and the others laugh.

  “It was a parachuting accident, sir.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m EN2 John Zukowski, sir. They call me Zoo.”

  “I’m BM3 Steven Cook, sir, and they call me Mac.” I break things.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “I’m ET3 Gerry Monahan. I’m called Meat, because I’m new.”

  “Why don’t you have the trident, son?”

  Issa answers, “Because he’s too new sir. He’ll earn it soon.”

  A short balding man in khakis, carrying a bag, walks up the steps, “Someone parked a truck in my way. What’s going on, Admiral?”

  “Lieutenant Issa, gentlemen, this disreputable looking fella in commanders wear is my intelligence officer, Phil Morton. Phil, this sharp looking lieutenant is a navy commando.”

  “Admiral, what are you talking about? We don’t have navy commandos.”

  Nimitz raises his hand to two other men coming up the steps, “I know. I know, but we do now.” To Lt. Issa, “Let me introduce Captain John Duncan, my chief of staff, and Captain Lewis Burbank, my logistics officer.”

  Duncan asks, “What is this, Admiral?”

  Nimitz smiles, “Gentlemen, we are about to go out to the Gold Eagle. Emerson, are we packed?”

  Lt. Grant says, “Yes, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Issa, how do we do this?”

  “We go for a drive to the LZ, sir. You might want to tell someone to bring the cars back. Oh, and sir, could you inform your radar station to disregard a few incoming contacts. We set up the LZ on the west shore.”

  “John, see to it. I’ll bring my driver, he’ll take care of the vehicles.”

  Issa pushes a button the radio on his belt, “5 Bravo 2, Five Bravo actual, I have the package in hand and we are inbound LZ Alpha. It will be the package plus 4. Time out, 70 mikes.”

  “Morton asks, “What are you doing, Lieutenant?”

  “Letting my other team know we are coming. They will call for the helicopters.”

  “Where is your radio?”

  “Oh, it’s on my belt, sir. I’m using a throat mike.”

  Nimitz says, “Let’s get moving, gentlemen. He’ll explain later.”

  SOUTH SLOPE OF WAIANAE RANGE, 0900, 3 JANUARY, 1942

  Lt. Issa stops the caravan of vehicles and everyone gratefully gets out. The last mile was on a kidney punishing gravel road. During the ride, the SEALS changed back into their tactical gear in the truck, but Issa, riding with Nimitz, is still in his whites. “Excuse me, Admiral,” and he grabs his bag and goes into the brush. A few minutes later, he’s out in forest camouflage BDUs and geared up. “This way, sirs, tactical approach, guys.” The SEALS disappear into the brush by the road and Issa starts walking up a trail, then stops when he realizes no one is moving, “This way, sir, it isn’t far.”

  Duncan says, “Chester, this is nuts.”

  Nimitz starts up the trail, “Patience, John. Son, what is your rifle?”

  “M-4 carbine, sir, a shorter version of the standard M-16 rifle. It has 2.23 high velocity rounds and a 30 round magazine. It’s capable of full automatic fire, but we rarely use full auto. It’s fun, but it’s inaccurate and a waste of ammo.”

  After about 100 yards, Issa raises a hand. They can see a clearing ahead where the brush has been cut back and square orange panels set on the ground in a ‘T’ shape. There’s a faint whooping sound, slowly getting louder, and the SEALS materialize around the Admiral and his staff. “Five minutes out. Hold onto your hats and squint your eyes when it gets close. The bird will kick up a lot of dust. Once it lands, my team will escort all of you onto the bird, and we will extract. This’ll happen fast, so make sure you have everything, and hold onto your h
ats.”

  The SH-3 Sea Knight makes the approach fast, flaring at the last second, and settling into a hover just above the ground. The noise is tremendous. As it settles to the ground, The SEALs, one arm around the back, the other pushing their heads down, run the officers onto the bird. As they run, Grant loses his hat and it sails up and away from the helicopter. Issa does a quick head count, taps the crew chief on the shoulder, and gives the thumbs up that everyone is aboard. A second later they are forced down in their seats as the helicopter climbs, spins in the air, and flies out over the ocean. Another helo comes in for the other rest of the team, who are already picking up their gear. As they climb away, Lt. Grant shouts, “I lost my hat.”

  Issa, strapping Nimitz into the jump seat by the door, shouts back, “I know, dumb ass. You could have killed us all if it ended up in an engine. I told you to hang on to it.”

  “You could have warned me!”

  Issa gets nose to nose with him, “I told you twice. I assumed you weren’t a dumb ass, dumb ass. Now I know better.”

  Issa takes a cranial off its rack, “Sir, if I can put this on you, you will hear everything.” Nimitz smiles and nods, and Issa, already wearing his, puts the cranial on Nimitz’s head and plugs it in, “Can you hear me, sir?”

  “Yes, yes I can. Why was it necessary to board so quickly?”

  “The helicopters kick up a lot of dust, grit, and debris, which can damage the engines if we stay ground hover too long.”

  “Oh, what kind of aircraft is this?” On his cranial Nimitz hears, “Sir, I am your pilot, Lt. Sandra Douglas. This is a SH-3 Sea Knight, anti-submarine and transport helicopter. Welcome aboard Eightballer 416.”

  Nimitz is silent for a moment, “You mean this aircraft is being operated by a woman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long have you been in the Navy, Lieutenant?”

  “Five years, sir. I’ve been flying since completing training. This is my third deployment.”

  “You know we are fighting a war?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do my part, sir. We hunt subs and rescue people from the water. And, sir, I’m not the only female pilot.”

  Nimitz shakes his head, “Congress is going to have a cow.”