by James Young
“I think it makes both of us much more direct and less demure than what the Cobbs are used to," Agnes said. She then looked back at the closed door, raising an eyebrow as her gaze met Jo's.
“It’s solid enough to block sound and the board outside squeaks. We’re alone.”
“I know where you and Patricia work now,” Agnes said lowly.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jo replied without a second’s hesitation.
She turned back to the closet to compose herself, then realized that grabbing a dress when one was already on the bed was a dead giveaway of guilt.
Smooth Jo, really smooth. To attempt to salvage her gambit, she put the other dress back.
Have to remember to wear the padded bra, she thought, looking at the garment. It’s a little cold in that basement.
“I am happy to see you are the soul of discretion,” Agnes replied with a smile.
Yep, totally busted.
"I'm like a vault," Jo replied simply.
“Nick and I are getting married tonight."
Jo nearly dropped the dress and the slip that was going to go under it. She took two steps towards Agnes, causing the other woman to step back as if expecting an attack. Jo waved her concerns away, even as she spoke in a fierce whisper.
“I’m sorry, I swear I just heard you say you want to meet the vengeful spirit of Alma Cobb, matriarch of the Cobb family, in some dark alley,” Jo said.
"What?" Agnes asked. "Nick's mother is…"
“I say vengeful spirit, because that woman will most certainly have a heart attack at the idea of one of her sons getting married without her meeting the bride in question," Jo said, her eyes wide in genuine terror.
Agnes covered her mouth and fought hard not to laugh.
“I’m serious,” Jo said, her smile indicating she could at least see some of the humor. “I will not be an accomplice to murder nor sign my own death warrant in the form of Nick Cobb’s marriage license.”
“I was more worried about Patricia,” Agnes said. “That she’ll feel like I’m preying on her brother.”
Jo smiled at that.
“Out of all the boys, Nick is the least afraid to tell Patricia to mind her own business,” Jo said. “Just as long as this isn’t a shotgun wedding, you’ll be fine.”
Agnes giggled.
“We are careful,” she replied. “I have no desire to become pregnant and lose my job.”
Jo nodded at that.
Stupid customs that arise from stupid men.
“Do I need to make sure his brothers are there?” Jo asked.
"No, just Patricia," Agnes said. “One of Sam and David’s classmates owed me a favor. I have already arranged for the brothers to be told after they get to Ewa.”
“Remind me to never cross an admiral’s secretary.”
“That is always a wise decision,” Agnes replied.
“Compared to what you’ve already done, Patricia will be child’s play. But, I need to get ready for work.”
Agnes nodded, turned towards the door, then stopped to ask a question.
“Do you love Sam?”
“I don’t know,” Jo replied honestly and rapidly. "I’m not sure if I love Sam, or I love Eric and Sam’s just the one who’s here.”
That was probably a bit of oversharing.
Agnes reached out a hand to touch Jo’s arm, smiling sadly.
“When my fiancée died,” Agnes said, “there was one night with his brother, too much wine, and things we’d both like to forget. I understand.”
“Eric’s not dead,” Jo said quietly. “Nor are he and I officially an item.”
"There is a reason some Catholics believe purgatory is worse than Hell," Agnes responded with a shrug. “It is much worse not knowing. Both about a relationship and whether someone is okay.”
"There were…some unfortunate words passed," Jo replied.
“It is unfortunate that you need to get ready for work,” Agnes said. “I am curious as to why you are not, as you say, an item?”
“Pride and stubbornness,” Jo said. “Both of them mine. Plus a fear of loss.”
“God knows the number of the hairs on our head and days in our lives,” Agnes said. “Both are unknowable to us, so we should enjoy each day like it is our last.”
“I lived each day like it was my last once,” Jo said with a wistful smile. “It led to my father nearly putting me in a convent and a young man getting sent to the Philippines.”
“Was he skillful at least?” Agnes asked. Jo looked at the other woman in shock, feeling her face warm.
Quite, thank you very much.
“Then not all was lost,” Agnes said with a wicked look.
I am never playing poker with this woman. Oh Jesus Nick, are you really ready for her?
Before Jo could respond, Agnes opened the door, stepped into the hallway, and was gone.
Then again, ready or not, she’ll be a very nice addition to the family.
Jo smiled, not feeling the least bit of guilt at her next thought.
Not the least because Patricia won’t know what to do with her.
As if summoned, Patricia opened Jo’s door and slipped in.
“You know, for someone who is concerned about her brothers seeing me in a state of undress, you sure don’t care about knocking.”
“My brothers are all on their way out to Ewa,” Patricia said. “Apparently that’s where Sam and David’s squadron is temporarily staying.”
“They just left Agnes?” Jo asked in a fierce whisper.
“Yes,” Patricia replied.
“So maybe one of us should go keep her company?” Jo said.
Patricia took a deep breath.
“I’m not sure how I feel about that woman,” Patricia replied. “I think Nick might have gotten in last night and stayed at her place.”
Jo really hoped that her expression didn’t match her internal ruminations.
You know, I think maybe I should just let it rip.
“I’m sure they did,” Jo replied evenly. “And I hope it was amazing for Nick as long as he’s been at sea.”
Patricia looked at Jo, her eyes wide in shock.
“Josephine!”
“There’s a war on, genius,” Jo replied. “I doubt you sent the good Lieutenant Read out of here with just a familial hug.”
If Patricia had been shocked before, Jo had a moment where she wondered if her roommate was going to lose consciousness.
You opened this dance 'Toots,' and we've been roommates long enough you should know better.
“But you know what’s more important?" she continued, pressing her advantage. "I don’t care, because if the last thought he has of you on this world is whatever happened in your bedroom, then at least he’ll die knowing someone loved him.”
Patricia’s face sobered.
Good job, Jo. You may not have said 'unlike Peter,' but damn if Patricia didn't hear it.
Before Patricia could speak, Jo held up her dress and undergarments.
“Now if you want a shower, you’ll go out and be a good hostess,” Jo continued. “Or I’m going to go be a good hostess and wonder if I’m giving off a stench all day. That will not make me happy, especially if we’re entertaining tonight.”
“Fine, I’ll go sit with her,” Patricia said.
“Try not channeling your mother for about thirty seconds,” Jo said. “While I’ve never met the woman, I’m pretty sure you’ll get along a lot better with your brother’s girlfriend.”
Patricia rolled her eyes, but left.
I swear to God, someday I’ll meet the famous Mrs. Cobb. I just hope she doesn’t make me want to grab and give her a shake like Patricia does at times. I can see that going poorly for me.
Jo looked at the clock and cursed under her breath
Going to be a quick shower unless I just want to put my hair up. I think Commander Tannehill believes I have enough mannish habits already, I really don’t need to start looking like one.
The sound of laughter from the kitchen made her smile as she slipped into the bathroom. It was Patricia’s deep, surprised laugh that indicated Agnes had apparently said something quite witty.
I guess she took my advice to heart. Or maybe I just misunderstand her sometimes.
As she put her clothes on the vanity, she noticed the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from her jewelry drawer.
Well that’s a little odd, she thought, pulling the drawer open. There was a folded up note inside. She pulled it out and recognized Sam’s handwriting. It was quick read, and Jo made sure to pass over it twice to make sure it was not misunderstood.
That complicates things. That complicates things a lot.
Taking a deep breath to fight down rising panic, Jo put the note back in the drawer and began getting ready for the day.
Gonna suck when I tell Patricia that her brother went looking for us first at the library, then at the shipyard.
For a moment, Jo indulged herself in a fantasy of Sam meeting Patricia’s former boss.
Probably fortunate for that handsy asshole he got reassigned to sanitation.
U.S.S. Yorktown
0400 Local (1800 Eastern)
350 Miles Southwest of Colombo
10 August (9 August)
“Sir, Lieutenant Commander Brigante would like to see all section leaders in the ready room.”
“Thank you, I am awake,” Eric said.
Actually I’ve been awake for the last half hour. But what’s a lack of sleep between all us boys?
The sailor nodded from the hatchway, but only moved off once Eric actually swung his legs out from his bunk. He rubbed his eyes then looked at his watch.
Well, glad we both dodged the bullet of a dusk strike and possibly getting jumped in narrow waters.Now let's see what fresh hell awaits us this morning.
“I swear to God, I am never bunking with another one of you damn dive bomber pilots again,” Lieutenant (j.g.) Adam Seward of VT-11 stated. The two men had been shuffled together in the most recent shift in bunking after the Battle of Mogadishu.
I get that the CAG thinks having people sleep alone after their roommate gets whacked is a morale issue, but I’m about to stab this son of a bitch while he's out, Eric thought.
“Well, the way this war’s been going for torpedo pilots, I think one or the other of us won’t have to worry about that problem after today,” he returned angrily.
Seward rolled over and fixed Eric with a hard glare.
“Before you say a single word, I want you to consider who started this conversation,” Eric snapped, buttoning up his shirt. “I don’t like getting up early any more than you do.”
Now that he was fully awake, Eric could hear the sounds of planes being moved about on the hangar deck. The bustle had a definite air of urgency.
Something big is in the offing. Maybe I’ll get a chance to avenge those ‘lads’ on the Victorious soon after all.
“Quite frankly, you might as well get up,” Eric said. “Beat the line to the head.”
“Go to Hell,” Seward said, rolling back over.
Suit yourself. He quickly visited the head to brush his teeth and do his morning business, then headed up to VB-11’s ready room. To his surprise, he was the first section leader to arrive.
Brigante looks like he hasn’t slept a wink.
The ashtray next to the squadron commander already had several butts in it, and Eric was reasonably sure that was not the first cup of coffee Brigante had consumed since lights out the previous night.
“Grab your plotting board,” Brigante said by way of greeting. He pulled out his battered pack of Lucky Strikes and offered one to Eric.
“No thank you, sir,” Eric said.
“You sure?” Brigante asked, fishing out his own cigarette. “I feel like now would be when I point out a condemned man should smoke them if he’s got them.”
“I’ll wait until I see who’s in the firing squad, sir,” Eric replied. “Maybe they’re all cross eyed.”
Brigante gave him a small smile at that as the other sections leaders filed in.
“We can only hope to be so lucky,” Brigante said, then turned to the gathered foursome.
“I’ve been up since oh two thirty,” Brigante stated to the gathered group. “I intend to be sleeping warm in my bunk by fourteen hundred after a good day’s work. I hope that you will all be doing the same.”
With that, Brigante put his plotting board on the table in front of him.
Holy shit.
Eric noted that there were a series of locations moving inexorably northwards for most of the night. The positions then suddenly turned eastward away from Yorktown, then back southwards as it grew closer towards dawn.
If we keep coming southeast at our current speed, we’ll stay barely two hundred miles apart when the sun comes up.
He did the math in his head again as he realized Yorktown and her compatriots had sped up over the last six hours.
No, we won’t even be two hundred miles. Barely one hundred and fifty.
“It appears whomever is left in charge of the British fleet remnants is either a fool or has a noisy walk from his brass balls clapping together,” Brigante said. “These position reports have been broadcast in the clear, followed by authentication in code, for the last eight hours.”
“What?” Lieutenant Ramage and Lieutenant Dale Connors, White One, both asked simultaneously.
“Radar, gentlemen,” Brigante replied after checking the hatch was closed. “The British have fully embraced it, and it appears the Illustrious has been keeping a steady relay of aircraft in contact with the Japanese using it.”
Brigante took a puff of his cigarette.
“Which means, more than likely, they are going to die today,” he continued. “Since as you can tell from the last position report, the Japanese have turned to swat the mosquitos behind them. I suspect they intend to launch a strike as soon as they figure out where the British force that’s chasing them is located.”
The British are insane. Unless the Ark Royal is in better shape than the scuttlebutt said, it’s Illustrious versus four Japanese carriers.
“Kinda like chasing the gang that burned your house down and murdered your family into the night, isn’t it?” Lieutenant Connors noted.
“With a lantern and while screaming at the top of your lungs,” Eric replied with a grimace. “What has Admiral Fletcher’s staff decided we’re going to do?”
“It will be a predawn launch,” Brigante replied. “We’re throwing everything into the punch in the hopes we’ll catch them looking south at the British carrier rather than at us.”
“Are we forming up with the rest of the carriers?” Eric asked.
“Staff thinks that will be too hard in the darkness,” Brigante replied. “So no, we’re all going to go as we launch.”
“Helluva a penalty for whomever’s the quickest carrier,” Lieutenant Ramage observed.
Before Brigante could reply, the Yorktown’s loudspeakers blared with reveille.
Hope Seward enjoyed his twenty extra minutes. Might be the last night’s sleep he ever gets.
“I just pray the boys from the Atlantic Fleet haven’t changed doctrine since we came out here,” Brigante observed. “From what I understand talking to Vice Admiral Fletcher’s staff, their little kerfuffle with what Admiral Kimmel calls the Usurper’s Navy led to some second thoughts about how to do business.”
This could get chaotic over the Japanese fleet. There won’t be all that time to coordinate like there was over the Italian one.
The Pacific Fleet had developed certain rules for potential carrier battles for just such a situation as this. Things like which air groups attacked which targets, the priority of ship types, and rendezvous points had been discussed several times prewar.
Well, too late now. We got to the fight with whatever we have right now.
“Scouting Eleven will be carrying 1,000-lb. bombs as well,” Brigante said.
“I hope they account for the different weight when they figure out their flight plan,” Lieutenant Drake responded.
“It’s going to be under two hundred miles by the time we launch,” Eric said. “I don’t think fuel is going to be our problem.”
“Are the Wildcats going to actually be able to fly as escort?” Lieutenant Connors asked. “Not for all the good they’ll do against the Japanese fighters, but more targets increases our odds.”
“Pretty sure Commander Thach would slap you in the mouth for saying that,” Brigante said. “The Wildcats have held their own, they’ve just been outnumbered every time we’ve gotten into a fight.”
“Holding their own ain’t saving our ass any,” Connors snapped back.
“There’s a reason those two Atlantic carriers have double the fighters,” Brigante replied, his patience wearing thin. “When you get back, you can add those opinions to your after action report.”
The rest of VB-11 began filing in, ending the discussion. Eric took his customary seat near a ventilation outlet, as he was sure it was about to get almost fog like with cigarette smoke.
Only thing I like about when we go to General Quarters: The damn smoking lamp gets turned off.
He looked at the plotting points on the map once more, noting where the Victorious had apparently gone down.
Commander Martin, I’ll get a hit for you chaps.
Eric felt a slight burning in his eyes as he thought of the gathered British flyers, then blinked it away.
Least I can do for a shot of rum and some mail.
Ewa Field Marine Corps Air Station
1200 Local (1800 Eastern)
9 August
“Well I don’t know, gentlemen, I might have had other plans tonight,” Adam said airily as he looked at the three Cobb brothers. “I mean, it being my first time in Hawaii and all.”
“Sir, the Royal Hawaiian has a hell of a spread,” Sam replied earnestly.
Man looks a bit nervous, like there’s some reason he really wants me at the Royal Hawaiian.
“Plus while our sister’s kind of taken, her roommate Jo is available,” Nick said.
Oh man, if you had eyes in the back of your head.