“Gentlemen, explain yourselves.” The three officers in front of him shuffled their feet and looked at each other until one of them took the initiative. That raised him slightly in Theodore's estimation.
“Sir, a formation of F2Gs from, VMF-214 were returning from a strike. One of them, Cutthroat had been hit and was in trouble. Her oil cooler was damaged and she was spewing oil. The Corsairs, both F4U and F2G have a weak spot there, you know that Sir. Anyway, her pilot knew he wasn't going to make it back to Intrepid so we were sent out to make the pickup. He didn't make it sir, his engine seized and he bellied in about two miles short of the coast. We had a quick discussion sir and we went in to get him. The two Bearcats cleared the way, then our helo picked the pilot up and brought him out. There was nothing to it really sir.”
“Lieutenant Urchin. I would remind you that the helicopters we have on board are slow and vulnerable. The Germans have quadruple twenty millimeter guns that will saw them out of the sky almost instantly. Their new twin thirties will do so even faster. By crossing the coast in this way you risked your own lives, the lives of the helicopter crew and the life of the pilot you were trying to rescue. We have a SEAL team on board who do nothing else but infiltrate coasts and extract people we want extracted. That is why it is strictly forbidden for helicopters to approach the coast, let alone cross it.”
“'Respectfully Sir, No.”
“WHAT!.” At that point those who denied the existence of reincarnation would have been deeply shaken. From out of Admiral Theodore's subconscious boiled a montage of images of floggings, keelhaulings, hanging in irons, garrottings and maroonings on desert islands, all the victims bearing Lieutenant Urchin's face. “You are stating that those orders do not exist Lieutenant?” he said with the soft slippery slithering sound of stillettos sliding from sheaths.
“Not quite sir. The orders, very wise ones if I may say so sir, are that helicopters shall not approach or cross a defended coast. But this coast wasn't defended sir, it was wide open. So the orders didn't apply.”
“It was undefended Lieutenant because you two destroyed the anti-aircraft guns. And, may I add, got your Bearcats shot up fairly thoroughly in the process.”
“Yes sir, but we had to return fire, the anti-aircraft opened up on us. Regulations do specifically allow us, indeed require us, to return fire sir and eliminate the threat to ourselves and other aircraft in the vicinity. That's what we did. We simply defended ourselves so effectively there were no anti-aircraft guns left.”
“But, if you hadn't been in breach of orders by approaching the coast, they wouldn't have fired on you!”
“But, sir, then they would have fired on the helicopter, and, as you wisely pointed out, the HO3 can't take damage”.
Admiral Theodore got the distinct feeling he was drowning in quicksand. To his intense relief there was a hammering on the door and a runner from the Signals Room burst in. He had a piece of paper, a signal. Admiral Theodore read it and a column of ice ran from his stomach into his throat. His face must have shown something for Lieutenant Urchin had moved towards him. Theodore saw his face in a reflection, he'd gone grey-white.
“Sir, are you unwell? Is something wrong?”
“It’s from TG57.2, they group was attacked by German bombers about an hour ago. Shiloh was hit and she's burning. We've been ordered to make flank speed to join her so our helicopters can help in the firefighting and rescue operations.” The compartment was silent now, ever since the inferno aboard the Enterprise early in the war, fire was the great fear of the US carrier community. Enterprise had gone down with few survivors after a U-boat had put four torpedoes into her.
“Gentlemen, we have more important things in hand now. Consider yourselves fortunate. Also consider yourself fortunate that the commander of VMF-214, some Marine called Boyington, has requested that you be decorated. And Lieutenant Urchin?”
“Sir?”
“Lieutenants who make a habit of nit-picking and legalistic quibbling have a long career ahead of them.”
“Yes Sir!”
“As Lieutenants. Get to your aircraft and make sure it’s ready. What for, we'll find out later. Dismissed”
Admiral Theodore went out onto his bridge wing. He could see his entire task group here. His CVL, two of the Atlanta class cruisers and six Fletcher class destroyers. A small group but a loved command. Theodore knew that his group were laying the groundwork now for something very important, something far more than just picking up pilots. To his knowledge, no Navy in history had ever formed such groups of warships before, ones tasked specifically for the purpose of rescuing survivors and aiding those in distress.
As he watched, he saw the bone in Atlanta's teeth enlarging and felt the vibration under his feet pick up as his light carrier went to flank speed. Kittyhawk had topped out at 32 knots on trials. Now, she would need all of that if the fire on Shiloh was as bad as the one that had consumed Enterprise. He looked up, almost expecting to see the pyre of black smoke on the horizon. Instead, he saw something that he'd never seen before, not in almost twenty years at sea. A strange white cloud formation reaching towards him, very high up, a cloud made up on hundreds of wide ribbons stretching across the sky, horizon to horizon. Reaching towards and over him. For some strange reason, Admiral Theodore felt a terrible sense of unease at that cloud, as if somebody was opening the doors of hell and this was the first blast of the Inferno. Then the Klaxons went off.
“Air contact sir, single aircraft heading in. A splasher.” On the deck below him four Bearcats were already taking off while two of the HO3 helicopters were spooling up. They'd be at the scene of the splash before the crippled aircraft ditched. He had a good crew, that was for sure. Perhaps that cocksure smart-ass Lieutenant had been right after all, perhaps establishing a tradition of going in to make a rescue regardless of odds was the right way to go. The Coast Guard did it that way, their slogan was you have to go out, you don't have to come back. Theodore looked up at the ominous cloud again, still spreading slowly towards him, and shuddered slightly. Something was about to change in the world.
CHAPTER SIX IMPENDING FATE
Arado 234C Red Two, Rapidly descending towards the Bay of Biscay
Lieutenant Wijnand knew his luck had finally run out. Three years of flying with bomber and close support units and it was ending now. His engines had gone, two shot into ruins, the other two had given up an unequal struggle. His Arado was a good glider even without them but gliders go downwards. There was no chance of making the coast. His ejector seat was gone, he'd tried to bail out manually but the exit hatch in the top of the fuselage was jammed. The controls were frozen, he had a little authority but not much. Just enough to get the nose up for ditching. What that would achieve, he just didn't know, he was about to find out though, the sea was approaching fast. Both feet on the control panel, heave back on the stick, get the nose up. Sickening, gut-wrenching smash as he hit the first wave then more and more as the Arado skipped across the sea. It was like being beaten with giant clubs. Then silence as the Arado stopped and started slowly sinking. The glazed nose was intact so she hadn't flooded straight away but water was coming through the holes in the bottom and air was leaving through holes in the top.
Then, his aircraft shook as a roar swelled and burst overhead. Four dark blue Grummans in line formation. Damned fighter pilots they'd probably claim him as a kill. Wijnand kept fighting the jammed emergency release but it was frozen tight. Then his aircraft started shaking. Overhead, two Ami helicopters were hovering. He'd never seen a helicopter before although he'd heard of them. Now two loud splashes, they were bombing him? That would be ironic. There was a splatting bang on the cockpit canopy, the Arado's nose was more than half submerged now. Two swimmers in black rubber suits. Wijnand realized the splashes had been swimmers jumping from the helicopters, not bombs. One of the men waved impatiently, the message clear. Get away from the hatch. Then he put a tool of some sort against the transparent section of the nose, and it shattered, completely. Now, with the nose opened, the Arado was sinking fast but the men reached in, grabbed Wijnand under the arms and, rather unceremoniously, hauled him out.