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

Adam replied as he levered himself out of his seat. “I think we have irrefutable evidence, however, that I, nor any other sane person, should be expected to land on a flight deck in the dark.”

It was a short walk to the Chenango’s blacked out bridge.

“Fine bit of flying there, Major Haynes,” Captain Damon said as Adam made his way into the compartment. The Navy officer extended his hand and Adam took it, hoping that his still sweaty palms weren’t too clammy.

“Thank you, sir,” Adam said. “It was a single seater, which means there’s either a cruiser or a carrier out there somewhere.”

“Probably neither, actually,” Captain Damon said, then continued. “The Japanese have submarines with seaplanes, and I’m wondering if this one was supposed to keep tabs on who is coming and going to Pearl Harbor.”

“Well, they’re going to need a new set of eyes,” Adam replied. “I’m pretty sure I got him.”

“Lookouts saw the flamer,” Damon replied with a smile. “How many does that make for you?”

Adam had to think about that one.

Clearly it’s been too long since my Spitfire days, he realized. Having a long line of kills was part of what helped him maintain the confidence necessary to go up day after day during the Second Battle of Britain .

“Depends on who you ask, sir,” Adam replied honestly. “But that’s twenty-six confirmed.”

Damon looked at him, face breaking into a broad grin.

“Well you just tied Eddie Rickenbacker, Major Haynes!” he said, clapping Adam on the shoulder.

Oh crap, I guess I did, Adam thought as Damon grabbed the microphone for the Chenango’s intercom.

“Attention all hands, attention all hands, we have all just been part of a momentous moment…” Captain Damon began.

“You know this means they’ll probably send you back home, right?” Sam muttered from behind him.

Adam turned and looked at the man.

“God, I hope not.”

Ratmalana Airfield

2300 Local (1330 Eastern)

Colombo, Ceylon

8 August

“Well, that tears it,” Russell muttered, looking at the signal. “Go wake the rest of the squadron.”

“Yes sir,” Pilot Officer Len Hatheway, Baron Four, stated. He grabbed Pilot Officer Gil Perkins, Baron Two, then ducked out of the blacked out ready hut at a fast trot. Russell waited until the man left, then turned to look at Flying Officer Peterson.

“Looks like you’re about to be a rich man,” Russell said, gesturing at the squadron board chalkboard. Next to the alert rosters, there was a column listing the time and date that it was expected the Japanese would be sighted. Scrawled next to 8 August, 2300-0100, was Peterson’s name.

“Dammit, if only the Lancaster had radioed in ten minutes ago,” Bellingsley snapped.

“It’s a pittance,” Russell said, goading his pilot.

“One hundred pounds is nothing to sneeze at!” Bellingsley snapped, then realized both who he was talking to and the tone he’d used. “Sorry Sir.”

“Help Rhett plot where we’re going tonight while I walk down to the tower,” Russell replied with a smile. “Best make sure that plans haven’t changed in the last hour or so.”

“Yes sir,” Bellingsley said, heading towards the map. Russell passed through the double blackout doors and into the humid Ceylon night, once more feeling as if he was walking into a sauna.

More than one reason I miss England. A mosquito alighting on his neck drew swift retribution. That would be another. With a pang of anger, his thoughts turned to the letter in his pocket.

Not that I have a home and hearth waiting for me really anymore, he considered, face narrowing. Either because my former wife no longer loves me or because the Usurper’s government is so in bed with the Nazis that they need to ensure the populace lets the occupier do the same. Maggie had apparently found solace in the arms of a Luftwaffe pilot, and the man had put her in the family way. She apologized, but just couldn’t face the nights alone anymore without him. The local magistrate had agreed, and as of two weeks before, Russell was divorced.

In some ways you’d think the censor would have simply decided I didn’t need to see this. The arc of his marriage’s destruction had been plain as day in the ten letters he’d received, starting with the resumption of hostilities. If it was a Nazi or Usurper plot to gradually sap the morale, Russell didn’t know whether to be angry or in awe of the opposition’s thoroughness.

“Halt! Who goes there?” came the call from the machine gun post now placed one hundred yards to the tower’s north.

“Baron Leader,” he replied.

“Please advance to be recognized,” came the reply. Russell strode forward, and a bright light shone in his face.

“You know, putting a torch into the eyes of a man getting ready to take off is bloody stupid,” he snarled.

“Sorry sir, orders!” came the reply. Russell could tell the sergeant was genuinely remorseful and waved it off.

“Might want to have a word with the officer of the guard for tomorrow,” Russell said. He moved forward and into the darkened tower, the heat only slightly less oppressive and the insects much more aggressive.

“You’d think we had the garrison’s blood supply in here, the damn mosquitoes are so thick,” Wing Leader Hairns said. “I had the signal dropped by here as well. The bomber lads are waiting until dawn provided the Lancasters and Sunderlands can stay in contact. Do you wish to do the same?”

Russell considered the pros and cons briefly.

“Sir, if I’m going to be attacking fleet carriers, best to do it when their fighters aren’t thick as flies,” he said, then slapped his arm. “Or mosquitoes.”

“The irony,” Hairns observed, drawing a chuckle from Russell.

“Indeed, sir,” Russell replied. “The Japanese are four hundred fifty miles out, so we might as well get our licks in and see if we can level the playing field.”

“Yes, taking one of their flight decks out of the equation would be appreciated,” Hairns replied. “Especially as this probably means we can expect trade tomorrow.”

“Sir, do you expect the Navy to make their appearance tomorrow as well?” Russell asked.

“Vice Admiral Cunningham is personally