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

“Blue Two, you owe me a drink when we get back to port!” Eric shouted into the cacophony of the squadron net. His hands were shaking with adrenaline as he pulled up alongside. His exultation died in his mouth as he looked over at the other Dauntless, Van Horn’s gunner slumped lifeless in a shattered cockpit.

Dammit. Van Horn looked over at him and gave a signal indicating that he was all right, and Eric led them out towards the rendezvous point. Brown was strangely silent as they began climbing.

“Brown, you okay?” Eric asked finally as several other Dauntlesses, as well as a couple of larger dive bombers in USN colors that he did not recognize, reached the rendezvous point.

“Sir, have you ever considered that maybe I want to fucking survive this war?” Brown snapped angrily.

I guess I asked for that, Eric thought. Still.

“That makes two of us, Radioman,” Eric snapped back.

“Well you sure don’t need me back here if you’re going to go looking for trouble, sir,” Brown replied.

“What would you have had me do, Brown? Let the damn fighter shoot Blue Two into the water?”

There was a long silence from the back cockpit. For several horrified seconds, Eric wondered if his tail gunner had actually wanted him to let Blue Two die so that they didn’t attract the fighter’s attention. Then the man spoke.

“My apologies, sir,” he said sincerely. “It’s just…it’s kind of hard being back here, helpless, while you get to decide what in the hell we’re going to get into.”

Eric considered Brown’s point.

“I understand,” he replied. “I really do. We’ve been through a lot of shit together, though. Have I ever done something reckless?”

“No sir,” Brown answered without hesitation. “But you do seem to have a way of attracting trouble.”

“My last gunner thought so too,” Eric said somberly. “That’s why he’s now sitting the war out. So did my fiancée, and that’s why she ended our relationship.”

Eric swallowed as he continued, sliding their Dauntless into a gaggle of VS-11 and VB-11 aircraft heading back towards Yorktown.

“So if you want to switch planes and fly with someone else, or even put in for a transfer, I’ll understand.”

I mean, if everyone else in my life is leaving me, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you do as well, Eric thought.

“Sir, knowing my luck, they’d stick me with Lieutenant (j.g.) Read,” Brown said after a long pause. “If there’s one person who is unluckier than you…”

“You know he’s dating my sister, right?” Eric asked.

“Sir, a man hitting a jackpot just before his brakes fail is still unlucky,” Brown replied without missing a beat.

“Did you just compare my sister to a jackpot, Brown?”

The two of them were interrupted by a series of Morse code coming over the radio. Eric stopped talking so Brown could work on transcribing the report, as it sounded like a USN scouting code.

“What’s the word?” he asked after a few moments.

“Looks like the Italian surface fleet headed south,” Brown replied. “Also, did you know that we apparently had additional carriers in the area? The pilot is claiming to be from the U.S.S. Bonhomme Richard.”

Eric smiled at that.

“They mentioned something about don’t be alarmed if there’s a strange squadron making reports during the briefing last night,” Eric replied. “I wasn’t expecting John Paul Jones’ ghost, though.”

“Explains the other dive bombers,” Brown noted.

“Also the other fighters, although I just thought they were dark-painted Wildcats,” Eric replied. “Although if they’re new carriers, they must be Atlantic Fleet, which makes me wonder who is minding the store on the East Coast.”

“Not my problem, but I assume we’re going back out?” Brown said.

“Yes, I imagine so,” Eric replied with resignation. “Unless the surface ships catch them. However, think they’re going to need help with that.”

Ratmalana Airfield

1130 Local (0200 Eastern)

Colombo, Ceylon

5 August

“Sir! Sir! Wake up!”

The furious pounding on his door was not how Russell would have preferred to be awakened. Indeed, for a brief moment anger washed over him as he swung his feet out of bed, then strode toward the door. It was only after he’d had a moment to recognize the panic in Pilot Officer Elliot’s voice that he stopped to get his temper in check.

The man sounds positively manic, Russell mused, casting his eye at where his sidearm remained hanging next to his life jacket. Russell listened and did not hear any sounds of gunfire, explosions, or voices shouting in Japanese.

Right then. He opened the door just as Elliot began another furious round of knocking.

“Pilot Officer Elliot, I can only assume that Oliver Cromwell himself has appeared in the middle of the runway,” Russell drily observed. “To, no doubt, state he will not speak with anyone other than me with regards to dealing with the current menace inhabiting Buckingham Palace?”

Elliot stopped, looking at Russell in utter befuddlement.

“In other words, there better be a bloody good reason you’re knocking on my door, in that manner, less than six hours after I finally fell asleep.”

Elliot looked sheepish, opening then closing his mouth. For a moment Russell feared he’d so disrupted the young officer that the teenager had forgotten his urgent mission. Thankfully, the man quickly recovered.

“Sorry sir, but Wing Commander Hains stated it was of utmost importance that all, and he repeated, all officers report immediately to the tower.”

“The tower?” Russell confirmed. “Why the bloody…wait, nevermind.”

Forgot about the typhoon taking the roof off of wing headquarters, he recalled grimly. Thankfully they’re focusing on fixing the radar shack and hangars before getting around to nonessential buildings. Russell was thankful that it wasn’t any of his aircraft lost in the storm. A couple of the Spitfire squadrons had not been as lucky.

“All right, I’m on my way,” Russell said.

“Looks like going to a nocturnal schedule’s not working out all that well, eh?” Bellingsley noted as they walked.

“There’s a reason I only shifted Baron Flight,” Russell replied sourly. “Bloody Japanese don’t have squadrons of 110s floating around in the dark, at