Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B by James Young (classic book list .txt) 📗

“Sorry, Sam,” she said, sniffling. “It’s just…I’ve been walking through a haze for months. And just for a moment, when I was taking a picture of you in my head, I felt such guilt, then such joy, then…”

“Then Norah walked in and saw more of me than she ever wanted to,” Sam bemoaned. Beverly looked up at him.

“Well, I hope she enjoyed the view,” Beverly said lightly. “I certainly have.”

Sam blushed.

I hope she did not. That would be a little bit awkward flying with Major Haynes.

“I don’t want to put you on the spot,” Beverly said. “But I’d like to stay in touch, wherever you go.”

Sam hugged her tighter.

“This wasn’t just some random fling,” he said. “If it’s possible, I’d like to stay in touch as well.”

“Well, glad we got that settled,” Beverly said teasingly. “Although I think you’d be a hard man if you’d said you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I’d be a foolish man,” Sam replied. “I try to avoid doing foolish things in life.”

“We better get out and eat breakfast before it gets cold,” Beverly said.

“Yes,” Sam said. “Also, we don’t want to go walking around in the same clothes that we came here with too late in the day.”

“Good point,” Beverly replied, letting him go. The two of them dressed quickly and efficiently, then went out to the kitchen where Norah was just finishing placing some bacon on a plate to the side.

“Myla left a note saying she’d come here with a change of clothes for you, Beverly,” Norah said.

“That was nice of her,” Beverly replied, her tone surprised.

There was a knock on the door.

“I’ll watch the eggs,” Beverly said, stepping to the pan. Norah wiped off her hands and went to open the door to the hallway. Standing there in his khakis with a grim look on his face was David. He held a garment box in his hands, and Sam saw a pale, puffy faced Sadie and fear-stricken Myla behind his brother.

I don’t even need to know what he’s about to say.

“When do we need to be dockside?” he asked.

“Major Haynes said as soon as possible,” David replied. “To quote him, ‘That includes time for a shower and getting dressed.’”

“Goddammit, he didn’t say anything to me,” Norah snapped.

“He got the phone call from Bremerton just after you left, apparently,” Sam said. “Major Haynes did not sound happy at all.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days for him,” Norah said with a grimace. Sam could see that the woman was attempting to put a strong face forward, but her quivering lower lip told him that she was fighting to hold back tears. Turning to Beverly, he saw that Norah was not the only one nearly overcome with emotion.

I hate seeing a woman cry, Sam thought angrily. He went and tenderly kissed Beverly on the forehead.

“Oh dammit Sam,” she sobbed, dropping the spatula on the stove and embracing him. Sam hugged her fiercely back as they stepped out of Norah’s way.

“I have to go,” he said. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know,” Beverly said. “Sooner you go, sooner you can come back from wherever they’re sending you.”

“Come in out of the hallway, David,” Norah said. “There’s plenty of eggs for Sadie and you as well.”

David followed Norah’s direction as Sam let Beverly go. He grabbed his uniform and headed for the washroom. As he hung the garment up and started the shower, he had an epiphany that made him shake his head.

Somewhere, some Japanese pilot is probably getting himself ready to face me as well. Well I hope I get a chance to make your widow cry, you son of a bitch.

I.J.N.S. Akagi

0852 Local (2122 Eastern)

Straits of Malacca

2 August (1 August)

First in line were the fleet’s minesweepers. The vessels had already passed down the straits at least a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours, their crews meticulously sweeping the ocean with binoculars. Now the ten vessels steamed in line abreast twenty-five miles ahead of the Kido Butai with the simple intent of sacrificing their hulls rather than having a stray mine hit a carrier’s.

Behind the minesweepers were a swirling contingent of anti-submarine vessels. Too slow, old, or poorly equipped to maintain station with the fleet, the submarine chasers, auxiliaries and, in one case, a captured Dutch gunboat all churned the waters through which the Imperial Japanese Navy’s main body would go. Having already sank one unfortunate Dutch vessel three days before, the force hoped to duplicate its success if any Allied vessels were lurking in wait.

Finally, there were the Kido Butai’s own destroyers. Each vessel’s commander was well aware that the Zuikaku’s loss had begun with an American submarine landing several critical torpedo hits. Although objectively the price of doing business in an enemy’s home territory, subjectively each destroyer captain involved had felt a great sense of shame and personal responsibility. For this reason, each of the men had whipped their crews into a frenzy of hyper-awareness, with all hands possible on deck searching for a tell-tale torpedo track of possible periscope sighting.

Standing on the Akagi’s flag bridge, Vice Admiral Yamaguchi looked on at the frenzied activity with grim satisfaction.

Some fleet commander may be willing to trade a submarine for a carrier, he thought. But I am not sure that the submarine commander feels the same way. Attacking the Kido Butai in the current circumstances would be almost certain suicide given the likelihood such an action would be responded to immediately with a storm of depth charges.

“Sir, the staff is ready,” his aide, Lieutenant Commander Honoka Kuki said from the compartment’s rear. Yamaguchi nodded in acknowledgment.

They can wait a few more moments, Yamaguchi determined, feeling the morning sun starting to become warm on his face. This is a moment I have anticipated for far too long to leave it so quickly. The strait’s narrowness made the Kido Butai seem even more powerful, the