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) 📗

Eric started to make and angry comment then stopped himself.

You were once a scared nugget too.

“Head to the rendezvous point, Blue Three,” he said sharply.

Only after he’d confirmed the survival of his men did Eric glance over his shoulder back towards the French cruiser. The vessel was slowing to a stop, her stern ablaze and a long slick of oil trailing behind her. One of the large Fantasque-class destroyers accompanying her was in even worse shape, its forward third a mass of flames. Its sister ship was circling at a distance, Green flight having apparently failed to damage it.

If that captain hasn’t flooded his—

The violent explosion was a demonstration of what happened when an out-of-control blaze converted a magazine’s potential energy to a thermodynamic process. The destroyer’s bow, mostly separated by the blast, was severed by the press of onrushing water as the Fantasque-class continued to steam forward. With her bow gone, the vessel quickly began to flood, and Eric watched as it began to settle into the Indian Ocean.

“All Pegasus units, check in with status,” Lieutenant Commander Scott Brigante called over the radio in his thick New York accent.

I don’t know why we couldn't just use Haymakers on the radio, Eric thought. That was another one of Hitchcock's dumb ideas.

“Red Two, one down.”

“Blue Flight, all accounted for,” Eric checked in.

“Green Flight, one down,” Lieutenant Drake Ramage, Green One, followed.

“Form up on me,” Brigante said. “Calling Yorktown.”

Blue Three slid into his position at that moment. Eric winced as he looked the Dauntless over, seeing several holes in the fuselage and wings. Despite its current resemblance to a colander, the SBD was only streaming a slight bit of smoke.

Unless he's really unlucky, doesn't look like anything is going to become a more serious problem. Still, better check.

“Blue Three, you look like the moths have been at you over the winter,” he called. “What’s your status?”

“The engine’s lost a couple of cylinders and McCannis caught some shrapnel,” Strange reported. “But I can get her back.”

Not like you have much of a choice. Eric looked down at the seas below, then shook his head. If exposure doesn’t get you, the sharks will. Their Royal Navy counterparts had taken some relish in explaining to the Americans just how shark-infested the waters below were this time of year. While Eric had sensed the Fleet Air Arm officers might have been having a lark, he was in no mood to test the theory.

Those poor French bastards, there’s about to be a couple hundred of them going for a swim.

“How many hits did we get on the cruiser?” Brigante asked over the squadron net.

Well shit.

“Blue Two looked like he missed close forward, Blue Three right under the stern,” Brown said.

Guess I’ll take that as the gospel. Eric passed along the report as VB-11’s surviving Dauntlesses slowly climbed back to 14,000 feet.

“Wonder if our mail will finally catch up with us?” Brown pondered, scanning the skies behind them. Yorktown had left Pearl Harbor in mid-May bound for the South Pacific. Their mail had caught up with them precisely once since departing Pearl.

Not the mail folks’ fault. I’m kind of amazed her props haven’t fallen off as many miles as we’ve steamed.

“Probably not until we get back to Australia or resupply catches up with us,” Eric said, continuing to keep his eyes peeled. “We basically fell off the ends of the Earth as far as Pacific Fleet is concerned.”

Brown chuckled bitterly.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure if you officer types have noticed, but we’re kind of in the wrong ocean.”

“We go where the enemy is,” Eric noted, his tone conveying that this wasn’t a conversation he was super interested in holding. “The Frogs and Italians were leaning awfully hard on the South Africans, so we want to remind them the Mediterranean is north of here.”

“Awfully expensive geography lesson today,” Brown replied, then added a very delayed, “Sir.”

He was good friends with Hitchcock’s gunner, Eric reminded himself, taking a deep breath to keep from jumping down his gunner’s throat. Movement at their altitude on the northern horizon caused the young officer to grab his stick harder. As the dots closed, he recognized them as an outgoing gaggle of Wildcats, Avengers, and Dauntlesses.

“Looks like the Brits are going to finish that cruiser off,” Eric said. He recognized the Ark Royal’s squadrons due to the distinctive yellow-chevroned rudders and charcoal gray paint on the fuselage.

I guess the Commonwealth’s work on figuring out a color scheme we Americans can recognize at a distance is progressing well, Eric observed. There had been some rather ugly friendly fire incidents in the Atlantic between USN and Royal Navy forces, some of which had contributed to the Allies losing the Battle of Iceland as several papers had dubbed it.

Nothing like 14,000 dead sailors and soldiers to generate some reforms.

“I hope they put that bitch on the bottom,” Brown muttered angrily.

“That makes two of us,” Eric replied. The ensuing silence told him it was best to let Brown grieve alone

I hope we do get some damn mail. I wonder what in the hell Jo and Patricia are up to.

Dry Dock No. 1

Pearl Harbor

1000 Local (1500 Eastern)

24 July

Patricia Ann Cobb, a.k.a. “Tootsie" or "Toots" to her four brothers, could feel the dockyard workers’ eyes on her as she followed Vice Admiral Halsey down Dry Dock No. 1’s sides. Taking a breath, she pushed the men’s gazes from her mind and listened to what the acting commander-in-chief, Pacific Fleet, was saying.

“Your drawings and plans in the flesh, Ms. Cobb,” the older man said, his eyes almost twinkling under his bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows. With a grand gesture, he pointed to the repaired side of the U.S.S. Maryland. The coat of fresh paint applied to the battlewagon’s side helped to hide the fact that her repaired section was visibly different in weathering compared to the rest of the plating on the armored belt.

“Thank you, sir,” Patricia said, feeling color rise to