by James Young
"We were under the impression that the Usurper's government had arranged parole with the Emperor himself," Wavell stated. "At least, that is what was communicated to us…"
"That is what was stated to us by an emissary from His Majesty's Government," the RAF officer stated hurriedly. "That all of us would be repatriated by shipping arranged by King Edward's government pursuant to your handover of Ceylon to His Majesty's forces."
"What?!" Nara roared, standing up. Yamaguchi did not even bother looking at the man as he considered regarding Wavell.
"I do not know what has been negotiated between our governments," Yamaguchi stated simply. "What I do know is that the Imperial Japanese Navy currently controls the waters surrounding this island and the Army is in the process of wresting control of it from your forces."
Yamaguchi looked at Nara, his face impassive as he waited for the Army officer to sit back down. Face flush and hand gripping his sword, Nara returned to his chair.
While Nara having a stroke would be amusing, the likely outcome would be a bloodletting that is helpful to no one at the moment, Yamaguchi thought.
"Given those circumstances, what King Edward's government may or may not have negotiated is of little concern to myself or Lieutenant General Nara," Yamaguchi stated. "I can promise you that if you surrender, here and now, your men will not be mistreated. The Imperial Japanese Navy will personally guarantee their safety."
The rattle of Nara's sword vibrating against his chair was audible to all present.
"However, as you have noted, we have defeated all Allied forces in the area," Yamaguchi continued. "Every day you make us resist is another day that we will have to expend supplies and shipping for Lieutenant General Nara's forces. Eventually, those ships will dwindle as we conduct other operations."
Yamaguchi smiled, and hoped Wavell could tell there was no mirth in his expression.
"Which, of course, means when you do surrender there will be far less available shipping for prisoners' supplies or transport," Yamaguchi said. "Then, of course, we just may have to let the Army take certain expediencies in order to preserve our own soldiers' rations and those of the civilian populace."
"You bastard," Wavell said, starting to stand up. The IJA soldiers behind Nara and Yamaguchi starting to raise their rifles caused the man to think better of whatever he was planning.
"I realize it may be difficult for you to accept that Ceylon is, shall we say, under a different sun than the British Empire's," Yamaguchi stated. "But we did not suffer our own losses just to hand this island over to anyone, much less so your men could go be employed elsewhere."
"Even if that elsewhere is fighting against your Soviet enemies?" the RAF man snapped.
Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow.
Well that's a surprising twist.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nara turning to face him. The Army officer’s eyes were narrowed, as if he too realized there was something very amiss.
Seems like there is a bit of both alliances having countries with their own interests. Or, alternatively, what we've heard about the Germans tying grain shipments to British participation in war is true.
"I leave that for the diplomats to figure out, Field Marshal..?" Yamaguchi said, his voice rising to indicate he did not recognize the man.
"Air Marshal Boyd," the man spat. "His Majesty's government."
Ah yes, I forgot their Royal Air Force has their own flag rank. Very foolish of me.
Wavell looked at his companion with no small bit of annoyance.
"Dangerous decision to come to an island without notifying your erstwhile allies," Yamaguchi said. "Nevertheless, I am glad to meet the emissary in question."
"King Edward has been quite clear in his communications with your government as to expectations regarding this island," Boyd continued. "Your ambassador in London was rather reticent to commit to any course of action, so I was dispatched here on behalf of the rightful government."
Yamaguchi kept his face impassive even as he felt goosebumps raise along his arms.
How in the Hell did you get here?! I will have to speak to Ozawa-san regarding his patrols.
"So, as an allied officer now under my command, I will have to formally request that you leave these proceedings," Yamaguchi stated, then turned to Nara. "I assume you can provide Air Marshal Boyd with an escort back to your headquarters?"
Boyd looked positively apoplectic at Yamaguchi's statement.
"I am not under your command," the man sputtered, starting to color.
"Well, then the alternative is you are here as a spy, Air Marshal Boyd," Yamaguchi said. "Lieutenant General Nara, what is Imperial Army policy on spies?"
"We shoot them out of hand," Nara said eagerly. He turned and spoke in rapid fire Japanese to the men behind him. A lieutenant responded with an abrupt "Hai!" and began drawing the Nambu pistol at his waist. Yamaguchi noted the well-disciplined officer kept the weapon pointed down at the ground until he was standing beside Nara. The weapon's cocking was loud as he began to bring the pistol up to aim at the senior British officer.
"What?!" Boyd stated. "You cannot just shoot me! I am–"
Yamaguchi was proud of himself for not flinching, either at the shot or Boyd's scream as the pistol round struck him in the chest. Wavell sprang backwards, holding his hands up as the two officers behind him immediately began to reach for weapons that were no longer at their sides. The Japanese lieutenant, for his part, cursed and rapidly fired two more shots, the second ending Boyd's screaming as the British officer slumped forward.
"What are you doing?!" Wavell asked. "Are you mad?"
Yamaguchi looked at Nara. The Japanese Army officer was regarding him with a newfound respect.
"For too long, your nation and the United States has treated ours as if we were second class or somehow subservient to yours," Yamaguchi said. "Now one of your officers, nominally an ally, has deigned to arrive in our operational area and tried to tell us what we were going to do as if we are somehow servants."
Yamaguchi looked at Boyd's body. Flies were already starting to alight on the corpse. As Yamaguchi watched, the man's breeches began to darken as his bowels released.
I am half tempted to leave you there to rot, symbolic of your Empire and its ability to dictate terms to anyone.
"Now, unless you wish to be the second general officer who dies for either of the two monarchs you both served, I strongly suggest we conclude these proceedings," Yamaguchi said. "My patience wears thin. Let us begin with discussing the condition your men will leave the port facilities in."
U.S.S. Yorktown
Sydney Harbor
1225 Local (2225 Eastern)
18 August (17 August)
"One thing about the Australians, they're always happy to see us," Charles shouted over the din of the ship's whistles and horns as the Yorktown entered the Sydney Harbor channel. The carrier's crew was manning the vessel's rails as she moved through the channel, with most of the available shoreline filled with joyful, waving Australians.
It makes me think of Pearl.
Eric felt a wave of homesickness wash over him.
"I'd be happy to see someone too if they were all that stood between me and annihilation," Lieutenant Commander Brigante observed. His arm in a sling, VB-11's face was also visibly pockmarked from the shards of glass that had been blasted backwards from his canopy taking a direct hit.
Couple milliseconds sooner and that 25mm shell would have taken his head clean off. It’s been a week since we put paid to that Soryu-class carrier and I can only just now look at his face without staring.
Eric glanced to where the squadron’s enlisted stood and looked at Constanza and the young man standing beside him with his head wrapped in gauze.
Brigante is lucky he didn’t lose another gunner. Would have had to become a fighter pilot because no one would fly with him at that point.
"I can almost taste the beer," a pilot called out.
“And the perfume!”
another responded, drawing whoops and whistles from his comrades.
"I think I want to go find someplace far away from the rest of these idiots," Charles murmured beside him. "I don't want to just drink my troubles away. Not enough beer in all of Australia for that."
Helluva battle.
Eric could only nod in assent as he once again thought about what they’d done over the last few days. The USN was referring to the engagement as the Battle of the Laccadive Sea, while the Royal Navy was referring to it as the Second Battle of the Maldives. Whatever it was called, Eric just knew many of the young men he'd left Hawaii with were either confirmed dead or 'missing' somewhere over the vast Indian Ocean.
"You know, Eric, you look like you're sorry we're still alive," Charles observed. Eric could see his former wingman was concerned, and he tried to force a smile that was nowhere near authentic.
"I just hope it was worth it," Eric rasped. "Might be having to box up way too much stuff this past week."
Lots of letter writing going to happen.
Sam and David had included a personal note with each set of property they’d boxed up. Eric had thought that was a particularly kind touch and made it a family tradition when boxing up dead men’s effects. Charles had helped once he’d realize what Eric was doing.
Man is going to fit in real well with the family, Eric thought. That is, whenever we get the Hell back to Pearl.
"We creamed at least two of their carriers," Charles said. "Didn't lose any of ours."
Well, depends on your definition of 'ours.’
Eric looked across Sydney Harbor towards Cockatoo Island. The Illustrious was in place, having managed to limp into Sydney under her own power earlier that day. The Ark Royal was not so fortunate, and had been towed to the Maldives pending arrival of a Royal Navy or American repair vessel. Vice Admiral Fletcher, with Admiral Hart's vehement backing, had believed it highly unlikely the carrier would survive a journey from the Maldives to Australia while under tow.
The Commonwealth forces started with five carriers, if one counts Unicorn. They ended the battle with one and a half. It's been awhile since I've read my Greek classics, but some guy named Pyrrhus comes to mind.
"There goes the Houston," someone noted. Eric jerked his head around at that comment, almost breaking ranks to get a proper look at the heavy cruiser as she passed the Yorktown heading out of Sydney Harbor.
"Lucky bastards," Brigante stated.
"What?!" Eric asked, turning to look at his squadron commander, then back at the departing heavy cruiser.
"Not enough dock space here, even with the floating dry docks," Brigante replied. "They did a quick patch job on her, then got her out of the way so they could put the Illustrious in the dock."
As he watched the Houston pass by with her own crew lining the decks to cheer at the Yorktown, Eric had decidedly mixed feelings.
On one hand I avoid having an awkward conversation with some officer about how I think I love his daughter.
He shook his head at that thought.
Then again, who knows whether there's actually any conversation to have given the lack of letters.
"Cobb, you look like you're seeing a ghost," Brigante noted. "I mean, she's heading back to Pearl, not Tokyo."
"Without an escort, looks like," Charles noted grimly. He gave Eric a knowing look of concern.
"Yeah, not enough tin cans to go around if they actually have to try and tow that Brit carrier and some battleship back from the Maldives," Brigante said. "I hope that doesn't happen anytime soon."
"Even if it does, I don't think we have enough pilots to help," Eric said.
"I'm so glad of the times we live in," Brigante sighed.
"Could be worse," Charles said, drawing an incredulous look from Eric and Brigante before he elaborated. "We could be Russians."
Both men nodded sympathetically at that. The news reports from the Soviet Union weren't good.
No sympathy for most Reds after hearing the Duchess talk about what they did growing up.
“The Duchess” was one of his parents friends, a White Russian émigré who had married an American navy officer then settled in Alabama. She was a kind woman, and had nothing good to say about Lenin, Stalin, or just about any Communist.
I’m sure she’s thinking the Germans are making lots of “good Communists” as she put it. Still, gassing is a horrible way to go, and somehow I doubt it only killed soldiers or commissars.
"I can't imagine someplace like St. Louis getting gassed," Charles remarked.
"Or New York," Brigante replied with a visible shudder.
One of those is a lot more likely. Which is horrifying, especially since it's a long way home for the Independence and Bonhomme Richard now.
There had been intelligence reports that the Usurper Forces had dispatched two battleships and a fleet carrier through the Suez Canal sometime in the last week. With the Japanese forces around Ceylon, Admiral Hart had determined he didn't want to risk borrowed assets getting pinned near the Cape of Good Hope. So the Atlantic Fleet carriers and their undamaged escorts had not even disembarked their crews when they’d stopped in Sydney to reprovision en route to the Panama Canal.
Almost a month at sea after having already been at sea all the way from Norfolk to around Africa.
Eric looked at the departing Houston as he did the math in his head.
They're going to need one hell of a refit when they get back to the Atlantic. Almost makes more sense to just have them stop at Pearl if the Usurpers' heavy ships are in the Indian Ocean, but that's above my pay grade.
"Eric, I'm sure even if her dad gets back to Pearl before us she'll still love you," Charles teased.
"Who?" Brigante asked, clearly confused.
"Eric's dating the daughter of Houston's captain," Charles replied, then realized what he’d said. Eric gave him a quick glare.
Didn't we agree not to share that little fact?
"That explains why you've been seeming a lot less happy than the rest of us about getting back to civilization," Brigante remarked with a knowing smile. The man looked like he was about to say something else until he realized the way both Eric and Charles were looking at him.
No, generally being involved in a kill or be killed business is why I've been pissed off. Missing the woman I…love is just icing on the cake.
"I'm sure there will be plenty of mail waiting for us when we get to Cockatoo Island," Charles said, his tone apologetic. Eric could see the man was genuinely remorseful for spilling the beans.
Gotta let it go.
Eric clapped his friend on the shoulder.
"But the real question is, will Patricia have sent us some of Mom's famous brownies after you asked?" Eric replied.
Pacific Fleet G-2 Building
1130 Local (1700 Eastern)
17 August
"You know, at some point we're going to have to have to at least talk about when you're moving your things out of my house," Jo said, her tone sounding like she was discussing the weather.
What the hell?!
Patricia snapped her head up from Tarzan and the Forbidden City.
"Excuse me?" Patricia asked, looking up to see it was only Jo and her in the lunch room.
"I did not stutter," Jo replied. "While I appreciate that your nominal presence allows your brothers to stay with me without running afoul of any blue laws, Sam and David have both stated that they're ready to get rooms in the BOQ. And you're moving out, I would like time to find a renter before next month."
Count to ten…must count to ten.
She took a deep breath, hating that her face was likely already revealing her temper rising.
"If this is your way of getting an apol…" she began.
"I don't give a flying fuck if you're sorry, Patricia," Jo snapped, then stopped. Patricia could see the other woman visibly reining in her temper.
So, even the imperturbable Josephine Morton has her breaking point, Patricia thought with some degree of satisfac
tion, then realized she should have kept a better poker face.
"Namely because I recognize that smug superiority when I see it," Jo bit out, causing Patricia’s smugness to fall away. "Yes, congratulations! After a week of literally only saying five words to me before grabbing a bag and going back over to that nurse's apartment, you have finally established that you don't need ol' Jo anymore."
That's not what it is at all!
Patricia clenched her fists in frustration. Looking down at a sticky sensation on her hand, she belatedly realized she should have put her peanut butter and jelly sandwich down first.
"Goddammit Jo, is this really the time and place for us to have this conversation?" Patricia asked, disgusted. Looking around again, she shook her head angrily and started licking her fingers.
Undignified as hell, but it at least gets cleanup started and I don't interrupt the bigwig meeting going on outside.
She had no idea why Admiral Dunlap had made an impromptu visit to "the cave," but the man had shown up in a state of high dudgeon with Vice Admiral Halsey in tow.
Ever since that admiral up and had a plane crash last week, things have been insane around here. I almost asked Jo if she knew who Rear Admiral Christie was, but that would have involved actually giving her that apology. That she deserves.
Jo watched Patricia licking her hands with a raised eyebrow, then narrowed her gaze.
"Practicing for tonight?" the other woman asked archly. Patricia looked up at her, not understanding initially…then having a rush of cognition.
You bitch.
Her initial rush of anger turned to sadness, as she realized just how deeply Jo had to be hurt to hurl that insult.
"I think, with that comment, we are even," Patricia observed coolly, then paused. "No, actually, I still owe you an apology: I am sorry, Jo. I am sorry that I took out my frustration at my brothers on you."
Jo’s mouth opened slightly before the other woman caught it.
At least you have the grace to not look completely dumbstruck.
"I realized that despite knowing Nick had gotten engaged, I never really processed it," Patricia said. "Nor did I treat Agnes appropriately for someone who was going to be my future sister-in-law."