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

to a fight, His sealed orders had been delivered by breeches buoy from one of the destroyers that had accompanied the Massachusetts. The young lieutenant carrying them had indicated the Office of Naval Intelligence had some concerns regarding the upper levels of the Royal Navy in the Battle of Iceland’s aftermath.

Some folks are categorically unable to accept that maybe, just maybe, the Krauts might know what they’re doing.

Unlike some of his comrades, Jacob could accept the possibility that, yes, the Nazis had somehow turned a senior officer or perhaps an aide in the Commonwealth fleet. However, having had to increase his own respect of the Japanese despite prewar misconceptions, Jacob was willing to accept that the Germans might have become quick learners with regards to modern naval warfare.

“Sir, the Massachusetts is vectoring fighters towards the enemy aircraft,” one of his talkers reported.

Jacob nodded, still sweeping his eyes around the formation to make sure the Houston was not going to collide with anyone. Satisfied the Officer of the Deck was keeping suitable station, Jacob brought up his own binoculars and again swept the sky in the bearing of the reported aircraft.

There it is. The distant dot was swelling rapidly through the binoculars. It took a full thirty seconds before one of the lookouts also sighted the aircraft, and Jacob made a note to have a word with Commander Sloan about their training.

“Looks like one of the Italians’ flying boats,” Farmer observed, then narrowed his eyes. “Or actually, one of ours.”

Jacob couldn’t resist throwing a jab.

“One of ‘yours?’” he asked, raising an eyebrow and dropping his binoculars slightly. Commander Farmer dropped his binoculars and gave the Houston’s captain a brief, unhappy glare before recovering his military bearing.

“A Sunderland, sir,” the man said, voice clipped. Jacob nodded, then brought his binoculars up again.

That was cheap, but so is bitching about Vice Admiral Fletcher not dropping everything to run off and defend a colonial possession, Jacob justified.

“Hmm, he appears to be coming closer,” Farmer observed. “Awfully brave of him; he must have different orders than the Mediterranean Fleet always did.”

“Which were?”

“Simply to make and maintain contact,” Farmer replied. “Let the next aircraft up get closer, then set about trying to figure out the force’s composition.”

“He might be trying to make a good report so they can figure out whether they should give battle or just run,” Jacob noted. “Then again, I can’t imagine not coming out to fight given all the damage we’ve been doing to convoys.”

“There are limits to most navies’ aggressiveness, Captain Morton,” Farmer observed. “I seem to recall not even yours ventured out that much in the face of a massive blockade during our nations’ most recent disagreement.”

Jacob grunted at that point as the Sunderland banked just outside of anti-aircraft range. It made one complete circle before suddenly straightening out its turn and heading west. The reason for the pilot’s change of course was easy to ascertain as smaller, faster dots closed with the Sunderland as it ducked into a cloud bank.

The ensuing combat’s outcome was certain, even if not as one-sided as Jacob would have expected. Judging from the one missing and one smoking fighter out of the flight of four that flew back over Houston, the Sunderland had died hard. The black finger reaching towards the sky on the western horizon, however, indicated the Sunderland had indeed died.

“What’s the report from the Massachusetts?” Jacob asked, stepping back onto the bridge with Commander Farmer.

“Splash one flying boat, sir,” Lieutenant Ness, the Officer of the Deck, reported. “However, it appears one of our fighters crashed.”

“Do we need to ready to launch our seaplane for rescue?” Jacob asked.

I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I want to see if the good lieutenant thought to ask. Seeing the look on the young officer’s face, he could tell Ness had not.

“See that we inquire at your convenience,” Jacob said. “Tell the XO I’d like to see him in my day cabin, please.”

Ness visibly swallowed at the last statement, and Jacob’s expression softened.

“Lieutenant Ness, I assure you, we didn’t even have aircraft when I was in your billet. So I’d be slightly hypocritical for expecting you to inherently remember to ask, no?”

Lieutenant Ness looked at Jacob nervously as he considered his options.

The problem with Ness is he’s not instinctual enough, Jacob thought. Which reminds me, I also need to tell Commander Sloan fitness reports are apparently due.

“Yes, sir,” Ness replied finally. Jacob nodded.

“File it away for next time,” he said, then nodded at Commander Farmer and headed for his day cabin.

I do love the fact that BuPers was kind enough to send along my naughty note for not doing fitness reports with the Massachusetts, yet somehow no one back in Australia can get our mail forwarded. Maybe I’ll write Josephine a letter before lunch.

As he sat down at his desk, he glanced at his daughter’s picture.

“I do wonder what in the heck you’re up to right now, young lady,” he muttered aloud. “With apparently half the Japanese Navy here in the Indian Ocean, I guess I don’t have to worry about Hawaii getting invaded.”

Jacob paused to look down at the half-finished letter to one Lieutenant Eric Cobb also sitting on his desk.

“Or, for that matter, that fly boy of yours being less than a gentlemen.”

U.S.S. Yorktown

0615 Local (2315 Eastern)

Indian Ocean

“Pilots man your planes,” the loudspeaker crackled above Eric’s head, jerking him from a cat nap. Shaking the cobwebs away, he grabbed his plotting board.

“Little early, isn’t it?” Lieutenant Ramage stated, looking at the clock. “I didn’t think we were launching for another hour.”

“We weren’t,” Lieutenant Commander Brigante said as he stepped into the ready room. “Plans changed once the surface folks got themselves sighted by a flying boat. I think Vice Admiral Fletcher wants to try to catch the Italians as they’re preparing a strike.”

If he wanted to do that, we probably should have done a predawn launch. Oh well, I’m not a staff officer.

“I need to see section leaders when we get