Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II Book 3)

by James Young

  There were several long moments of silence as Halsey continued scribbling.

  I can only imagine how amused the Army is that their requests to put a four star down in Australia were denied by the President himself. Might have been a vastly different discussion if MacArthur had lived, but for now this will be a Navy show.

  "Next order of business, since we're issuing directives: I want the staff to prepare an estimate for retaking Wake Island," Dunlap continued.

  Halsey stopped writing and looked up.

  "Bill, you'll be in charge of putting together the plan," Dunlap ordered. "You'll also likely be the person running the carriers."

  "Sir, what about Vice Admiral Fletcher?" Towers asked, shocked.

  "Vice Admiral Fletcher will be planning the subsequent operation," Dunlap stated.

  There was the sound of running feet down the hallway. An out of breath commander dashed through the door, waving message.

  "Sir, update from the Curtiss," the man panted, looking at Vice Admiral Halsey.

  "Well, you may want to give it to your new fleet commander, Commander Curts," Halsey said genially. Curts turned, his face apologetic.

  "Sorry sir, old habits die hard," Curts said, handing over the message.

  "I understand we have you to thank for the ability to even communicate to the Indian Ocean," Dunlap said, taking the message.

  "Sir, there are those who pass that scuttlebutt," Commander Curts replied, his tone humble. "I'd like to think I've had good subordinates and bosses who listened."

  Dunlap nodded as he took the message. Reading the first two lines, he stopped and looked at Halsey and Towers.

  "Well, seems like Vice Admiral Fletcher has made any thoughts on possibly intervening superfluous," he said, handing the message to Halsey. "Indeed, if he kept to this intended schedule, he's already launching as we speak."

  9

  Drowning Dragon

  Even the bravest cannot fight beyond strength.

  Homer

  U.S.S. Yorktown

  1315 Local (0405 Eastern)

  10 August

  "Gather around, gentlemen, it's time to find out how we're going to go make history!" Lieutenant Commander Brigante shouted over the din of Yorktown's flight deck as he strode out of the carrier's island.

  Eric turned away from where he'd been letting the breeze over the carrier's deck blow into his face. The air was strongly tinged with exhaust as Yorktown began launching her contribution to TF 24's Combat Air Patrol. The eight CAP Wildcats had been arranged in the front of the Dauntlesses spotted near the end of her deck, and Eric had been certain they'd have been the dive bombers' escort.

  Guess the range was too far even with drop tanks. Hopefully by next battle we’ll actually have Hellcats too.

  "Looks like some Kingfishers off the Baltimore and Tuscaloosa found your former lady friend, Lieutenant Cobb," Brigante said as the group gathered around. "Either that, or someone else hit her sister and didn't make it back."

  Eric felt a palpable sense of relief as the gathered group looked at Brigante.

  Glad he's back on board. Otherwise I'd probably be the poor bastard expected to lead this strike.

  Brigante had landed his damaged Dauntless aboard the Enterprise, his gunner dead with shell fragments through his neck and the aircraft a write off. VB-11's squadron commander had then bullied his way aboard an Avenger and flown back to Yorktown, arriving about 20 minutes before TF 25’s cruiser scouts had made their report. This had made Brigante, as the senior ambulatory officer, de facto CAG-Yorktown.

  Helluva way to get promoted.

  "If the cruiser boys can be believed, she's bleeding oil like a gutshot deer," Brigante said, pointing at the map.

  The cruiser pilots will have to carry their balls home in wheelbarrow after this.

  Eric had glanced at the map twice, finding it hard to believe the initial reports when they came in. The Vought Kingfishers off of the Baltimore and Tuscaloosa made his own Dauntless seem positively swift.

  Sure you can spot a carrier from well outside of the range they can see you, but they had to fly through that front between both sides.

  The line of thunderheads Brigante had sketched on the map caused him to shudder. Looking around, he could see his concern was shared.

  "Of course, one of them got too close and got himself shot down, but another one's been ducking in and out of clouds updating her position every twenty minutes," Brigante said.

  Or you fuck up and the CAP kills you.

  The gathered group shared glances and murmured about the dead pilot's bad luck.

  "Even if he's a bit off, that trail will lead right to her."

  "What about the rest of the Jap carriers?" one of the gathered pilots asked.

  "This bitch is just at two hundred miles," Brigante said. "The guy shadowing her wisely decided not to go looking for trouble given what happened to his buddy, but I'm guessing the other carriers are probably trying to rearm after punching the shit out of the surface ships."

  Brigante looked at the gathered group.

  "Good news is, another one of the other Kingfishers found a huge oil slick, a bunch of debris, and a couple dozen bodies near where we bombed the first group," Brigante said. "So pretty sure we got at least one more of those damn carriers this morning."

  The lieutenant commander paused at that and looked up at Eric as if expecting him to confirm the statement. After an awkward pause, Brigante turned back to his map.

  "The staff is certain the other Japanese carriers are coming down from Ceylon," Brigante continued. "So they're not going to launch everything just to finish this one off. That's why I selected you men rather than just launching one or the other Dauntless squadrons."

  And there aren't enough torpedeckers left to really justify asking them to make another attack.

  He'd pointedly not counted noses in the VT-11 ready room when he'd briefly ducked to look for Seward. However, in addition to confirming his ersatz roommate had not landed back aboard Yorktown, Eric had been given a stark reminder of just how deadly torpedo bombing was.

  Lots of empty seats in that ready room. Way too many.

  Brigante turned to make eye contact with every man as he made his next statement.

  "All of you are experienced and have put a bomb into something this cruise," he declared. "If we're only going to launch fourteen Dauntlesses, I want to make sure that we get enough hits to put this damn carrier down."

  Eric nodded as he continued looking at the line of thunderheads.

  "What has got your attention, Lieutenant Cobb?" Brigante asked. "You've been looking at that map like you're trying to memorize every freckle on your girlfriend's chest."

  "Those thunderstorms, sir," Eric said. "Gonna be fun flying back through them if we get damaged."

  "The weather's not going to be that bad, Cobb!" Brigante chided teasingly. "You act like you've been shot down twice or something!"

  Eric glared at his superior officer.

  "I've also hit my target, sir," he shot back, leading to several jeers and laughs from the gathered pilots. Brigante took the comeback in stride, looking at a couple of the gathered group.

  "Well since our good friends from VS-11 will be joining us rather than screwing up our dives," Brigante replied, causing the four men standing around Eric to shift. "I think this will go a lot better."

  "You can go fuck yourself," Charles muttered from beside Eric, his voice raw but still just low enough for Eric to hear. Eric made sure he didn't glance over at his friend, suddenly glad the engine roar from the last Wildcat taking off made it difficult to hear. For a brief moment, the Yorktown's flight deck was quiet.

  "Well, let's get this show on the road, we're already late!" Brigante shouted, stepping away from his map. "Hurry up and get the position copied down, then man your planes."

  The gathered pilots quickly complied, each pilot swiftly marking down the damaged carrier's position then turning towards their respective Dauntless. Eric g
rabbed Charles' arm as the younger officer angrily finished sketching the necessary bearing and heading. Moving away from where Brigante knelt, Eric waited until they were definitely out of earshot.

  "He didn't mean anything by it, Charles," Eric said. He watched Charles' nostrils flare as the man turned and looked back at Brigante.

  Man goes out there with a temper like that, he won't be coming back.. He suddenly felt a moment of terror.

  "You lost your squadron leader," Eric spoke rapidly. "Lieutenant Commander Brigante has lost several good friends."

  "And I fucking haven't, Eric?" Charles nearly shouted.

  "Goddammit, push it out of your head," Eric replied, annoyed at how desperate he sounded. "I don't want to deal with Toots losing the man she loves."

  Charles looked like he was going to snap something else, but stopped. Face still flush, he nodded stiffly.

  "Judging from what she told me about you as kids, you'd probably just make her angrier," Charles said with a wry grin.

  "Toots cleans when she's angry," Eric said. "I don't think Jo would appreciate the spotless house that much."

  Charles extended his hand, and Eric took it.

  "See you when we get back," he said.

  "You better," Eric replied. "Someday I'm going to have kids, and it'd be nice if they had at least one sane uncle."

  Charles shook his head.

  "You sure it's too late to let your sister down easy?"

  "Cobb! Read! Hurry up gentlemen!" Lieutenant Commander Brigante shouted.

  With a final glance, Eric turned and continued back to Blue One. He briefly looked over to where the last Blue One had been pushed over the side, then once more shook himself out of reverie.

  Going to walk into a damn propeller if this keeps up. This day was supposed to be over by now, and I’m starting to get loopy.

  Eric was startled to see Brown sliding gingerly off his wing as he walked up to Blue One.

  "Goddammit Brown," Eric muttered. "I thought they told you to stay in sick bay?"

  Brown shrugged, then cursed in pain.

  Yeah, maybe not shrug with a partially dislocated shoulder, hmm?

  Brown had not realized he'd injured the joint at some point that morning until the adrenaline rush had worn off. From what Eric understood, two of the squadron's gunners had threatened to drag Brown to sick bay rather than let him fly again in such a state.

  "I'll be all right, sir," Brown said, clearly angry that he was missing the attack. The scowl left his face as he gave one more glance towards the clearly petrified young man checking the Dauntless's rear guns yet again. "I was just explaining to Radioman 3rd Class Constanza how he needs to subtract 1000 feet from the actual altitude if he actually wants to get back here alive today."

  "You did not tell him that," Eric said, his drawl deepening. Brown nearly shrugged again but caught himself.

  "Well, guess you'll find out when you get to that damn carrier, sir," Brown replied. "Sounds like it's the same one we hit earlier. This time, punch that bitch like you just caught her poking a hole in the rubber."

  Eric's eyes widened as Brown walked past him towards the island.

  Jesus, I hope that was the morphine talking.

  He'd known Brown was a hard man, but that simple sentence told him more about his gunner than their many conversations while flying. Shaking his head, Eric quickly got in the dive bomber and went through his preflight ritual with the crew chief. Satisfied, he clicked the intercom.

  "So Constanza, where you from?" Eric asked, fighting the urge to cough as he inhaled exhaust from the section of Dauntlesses in front of him.

  "Minneapolis, sir," Constanza replied.

  Kid sounds like he's twelve.

  Fear and responsibility jumped on Eric’s proverbial shoulders with hobnailed boots at that moment. Shrugging it off, he tried to keep the conversation light.

  "Minneapolis?!" Eric asked. "How'd you find yourself out here in the middle of the Indian Ocean from Minneapolis?"

  "It was volunteer for the Navy or get drafted for the Army," Constanza replied. "I wasn't expecting them to get me through training as quickly as they did though."

  "Quickly?" Eric asked, watching as Brigante started down the flight deck.

  "My high school graduated me early back in March on account of me being already 18," Constanza said. "So here I am."

  Eighteen. He can't even vote and he's stuck here in the back of some plane hoping I don't get his ass shot off.

  "Here's to hoping you can tell your grandchildren about the time you sailed with Fletcher," Eric said, watching as the last of the ad hoc Yellow Flight trundled down the Yorktown's deck. Advancing forward slightly under direction of the plane director, Eric spared a quick glance up towards the island. He recognized Vice Admiral Fletcher and his staff all watching the takeoff but did not have time to study their faces before it was his turn to advance the throttle and roll down the Yorktown's deck.

  I'm really starting to wonder about my life choices, Eric thought as he left the teak deck behind him. Raising the gear and looking over the Dauntless, he listened closely to the engine and gently waggled the wings.

  Well, looks like this lady is none the worst for wear having been suspended from the hangar roof, Eric assessed as he searched for the rest of the strike. Acquiring the circling Dauntlesses, he turned into the oval and waited for the rest of the scratch Blue Flight to join up. Blue Two was Lieutenant Lang, a tall, gangly man from VS-11 Eric had only seen a couple times in passing he'd joined the Yorktown in Sydney. Blue Three was Lieutenant Silverstein, also from VS-11.

  I guess drawing heavily from the experienced pilots makes sense given how far of a strike this is, Eric mused as they climbed up to cruising altitude. Double-checking to make sure he had good oxygen flow, Eric glanced towards the sun.

  At least there's plenty of daylight to get back in.

  It took roughly twenty minutes for the Yorktown's Dauntlesses to finish joining up, another five for them to tuck in under the eight Hellcats that were their escort.

  Surprised Fletcher's staff is allowing any of the new fighters to come along. Bonhomme Richard must have lowered some spares from the hangar ceiling.

  The combined force flew along a half hour before Constanza spoke from the rear cockpit.

  "Sir, Radioman Brown said that he hoped my affairs were in order as trouble keeps finding you."

  Not an unfair statement, Eric thought bitterly as his gunner continued.

  "But that you, being an officer and all, could take down my last will and testament if I thought of anything on the way to the carrier if I just waited until we were in formation."

  Brown you son of a bitch.

  "Brown is an evil man who is just upset he didn't get to come shoot at more people," Eric muttered. Before he could say anything else, he saw a slight smudge of white smoke begin to drift back from Yellow Two's engine. The stream thickened quickly as the Dauntless broke formation and jettisoned its bomb as it turned back towards the Yorktown.

  "Sir, does that happen all the time?" Constanza asked, his query slightly high-pitched.

  "All the time, no," Eric replied. "But we also don't fight a carrier battle every day either. Don't worry, they'll be fine."

  Mild white lie.

  No one had broken radio silence to report the damaged Dauntless, not even the in distress crew. He hoped that the VS-11 bird made it back in one piece, but if it went down the two men aboard were screwed.

  With the surface boys forty miles north and west of us, I'm not even sure their floatplanes are this far out.

  He pulled out his plotting board and made a quick notation on the side, hoping that someone had paid better attention than him to navigation.

  Get your damn head in the game, Eric! War means fighting, and fighting means dying. Stop thinking about Stratmore, Strange, and Van Horn or you'll be joining them.

  Glancing back at Lieutenant Commander Brigante's aircraft, Eric saw the rear gunner fumbling with something
in his lap. A moment later, the man fired one yellow flare then, a few moments later, a red one.

  One small thing Hitchcock got right was establishing procedures for signaling without radio within the squadron. Sure I hope he's burning like a greasy newspaper in Hell, but he at least got that right.

  "Constanza, get ready to write this down!" Eric barked. He heard a rustling in the back of the aircraft, followed by a surprised curse.

  "Constanza? What the hell was that?" Eric asked, thinking he already knew. There was a long pause.

  "Sir, I just lost my logbook," Constanza replied.

  Goddammit, Brown with a bum shoulder might have been the better option.

  Before Eric could say anything else, Red One's gunner began signaling.

  STORM AHEAD. LINE ABREAST FORMATION, RENDEZVOUS TWENTY MILES ON THE FAR SIDE.

  Eric waggled his wings, then advanced his throttle to lead his section to starboard of Red. Leaving enough room for Blue Two and Three to formate on either wingtip, Eric glanced across at Brigante. The squadron commander flashed him a thumbs up that Eric returned before looking back forward.

  Okay, that storm looks like it's getting worse by the minute.

  There were no less than four thunderheads in front of them. The clouds’ upper structures were visibly continuing to billow upwards, an ominous sign for anyone getting ready to fly through them. Looking upwards, Eric saw the escorting Hellcats starting to climb and angle to the south.

  Brigante should probably follow them. The Hellcat leader was attempting to lead his group between two of the towering cumulonimbus. As the sleek fighters accelerated away from the Dauntlesses, Eric had another terrifying realization.

  If we don't link back up with them, we're going to be meat on the table for any Japanese fighters over that carrier.

  "Sir, shouldn't we close our canopies?" Constanza asked. Jerking out of his focus on the F6Fs, Eric quickly looked around to see he was one of the few pilots who had not already closed things up in preparation for the storm.