Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B by James Young (story reading txt) 📕

over the railing. Below them, they saw two young girls, a half-Asian boy who clearly favored his mother, and a very wet, muddy German Shepherd.

“Oh my word, that boy is going to die when he gets home,” Beverly breathed, then said, louder, “Harry, Leto, your mother says for you both to get home right now.”

Harry looked up in surprise from where he was playing with his two young friends in the mud. Sam was quite certain that the two young girls were sisters, their similar curly hair and freckled faces giving away the relationship more than the matching patterned jumpers.

“Yes, Mrs. Bowden,” Harry said. Leto, recognizing Beverly, sprung out of the mud and began scrambling up the bank towards them while barking excitedly.

“Leto!” Harry called after his companion. The German Shepherd stopped in its tracks, tongue lolling as it looked at Beverly, then back at Harry.

“You don’t need to get Mrs. Bowden muddy,” Harry admonished the dog. The animal lowered its head in submission, wagging its tail slowly as its master caught up with him.

Well-trained dog. Harry produced a treat from his pocket, then scratched Leto’s ears. His two friends giggled and also petted the dog, who licked them both in turn.

You’d never realize there was a war on, Sam mused. Which is the point of fighting those bastards out there.

“You left your bike on my sidewalk again,” Beverly called. “You can’t keep letting your mom know I’m giving you cookies like that.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bowden,” Harry said, sheepish. Beverly made a shooing motion, then turned back to Sam.

“Let us not tarry, Sam, it’s getting late.”

“You know, if you’d like, I can buy you dinner,” Sam said. “Probably easier to find a restaurant than to cook at this point.”

Beverly gave him a smile.

“Why Samuel Cobb, are you asking this widow on a date?”

Sam scuffed his feet, then stepped back slightly from Beverly.

“I didn’t mean to give that…” he began hurriedly.

“Well, and here I’d heard all these tales that you were a ladies man,” Beverly said, shaking her head. “I assure you, I will not mistake dinner as anything other than a friendly gesture.”

“I just would not want any likely suitors to think it was anything other than a meal with very pleasant company,” Sam said.

Beverly looked around.

“Who else are we picking up?” she asked, then outright guffawed at Sam’s pained expression.

“I have my shift in a couple of hours,” she stated. “Don’t stand there wondering what to say for too long. Most places are kinda slow now, and I think you actually want to enjoy your food.”

U.S.S. Plunger

0400 Local (1500 Eastern)

Philippine Sea

27 July (26 July)

CLICK…BOOM! CLICK…BOOM! CLICK BOOM!

The rumble of depth charges had persisted for over twenty hours. Cruising at 280 feet and rigged for silent running, the U.S.S. Plunger was far below the Japanese barrage. As he took a shallow breath, however, Lieutenant Nicholas Cobb could tell that the air quality was starting to reach the dangerous stage.

“You’d think that maru was carrying their entire payroll and their ancient ancestors’ ashes,” Commander Titus Emerson spat. If they were going to be this upset, they really should have guarded her better.”

I swear to God, sir, I could punch you. Nick, having been the officer of the deck when the convoy was sighted the day before, had quickly determined the solitary maru with three destroyers as her escort probably wasn’t worth attacking.

Should have known that Commander Emerson would feel differently. Normally that wouldn’t be a huge problem, as any sane man looking through the periscope would have done the same math I did.

“Sir, I think three destroyers guarding her was more than enough,” Nick replied lowly. “Most people turn and run at that point.”

“Good thing we’re not most people, XO,” Emerson said happily. “That maru sure did put on one hell of a pyrotechnic show when she went up.”

Yes, I’m sure we just hit some really important target. Too bad none of us are going to live to talk about it at this rate.

“Sir, they’re making another run,” the sonar man said resignedly.

“We must be leaking something,” Chief Petty Officer Luke McClaughlin, Chief of the Boat, snapped. “Otherwise how are those fuckers tracking us?”

Emerson gave Chief McClaughlin a disapproving look at the man’s language. Before the commander could say anything, the next batch of depth charges gently shook the boat rather than delivering the sharp jarring of near misses.

“How many charges does that make?” Emerson asked, turning to Ensign Paul Griswold. The boat’s most junior officer, Griswold had been put in charge of tracking the explosions.

“That’s two hundred charges, sir,” Griswold said, licking his lips as he consulted his notes. “The majority of them have not been close.”

“Looks like we’re all still learning our jobs, even on their side,” Emerson remarked. “Continue on this current heading. Eventually someone’s going to decide those destroyers have another job.”

We can only hope so. Looking around, he noted the condensation within the boat seemed to be increasing. In addition to simply making it hard to breathe, the declining air quality meant it was quite clear the Plunger was filled with unwashed, sweating human beings.

I don’t even want to know how hot it is in here. Unlike his brothers, Nick was a very thin, wiry man. The Plunger was still more than humid and warm enough to make him uncomfortable without extra bulk. Some of the crew’s larger members looked perilously close to heat exhaustion, and he’d already informed the submarine’s officers to ensure they were forcing hydration.

“Lieutenant Cobb, what do you think that vessel was carrying?” Ensign Griswold asked quietly. Nick had not been aware the young officer had slipped over from his spot near the plotting table.

“Explosion that heavy? I’d guess it was some sort of ammunition. But that’s awfully odd for a single ship to have an escort of three tin cans.”

Griswold looked thoughtful as he contemplated Nick’s comment.

“You think we killed some big wig?”

“One could only hope,” Nick replied. “But generally their admirals fly the same as ours do.”

“Damn