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

then at his aide. Coming to attention, he saluted and moved smartly off the Plunger’s gangplank towards Graham’s vehicle.

That was a little strange, he thought, walking up to the Packard. Why wouldn’t he send his aide?

As the got closer, the door opened and a familiar figure stepped out of the vehicle.

“Agnes,” he said, starting to run forward before his lover held her finger up to her lips.

“I am not here if you ever want to see me alive again,” Agnes replied, her tone and smile belying the seriousness of her statement. “There are many, many officers’ wives who have asked to meet the boats at the dock.”

Nick stopped short and took the proffered briefcase. Agnes smiled at the pained expression on his face as he maintained professional decorum. Looking forward, Nick saw Rear Admiral Graham’s driver struggling to hide a smile.

“You know, there’s a word for this,” he said crossly.

“Yes, it is patience,” Agnes said with a lilt. “I’m not planning on dying in the next two hours or so, and it appears neither are you.”

“No, no I am not,” Nick replied. “Although let’s not tempt the fates.”

“I would not dream of tempting fate with you, Nicholas Cobb,” Agnes replied. “Now, hurry back, and without a, how you say, ‘shit eating grin.’”

I will never tire of hearing her saying American aphorisms in a Portuguese accent. It was a long story how Agnes had ended up in Hawaii as the admiral’s secretary. Nick was well aware of the chain of consequences that had led to him ending up with her, and Death’s recurring presence in both their lives suddenly gave him a sense of urgency.

I need to make an honest woman of her. The thought was almost as quick as his steps back to the gathered officers. If these were ordinary times I’d want Mom and Dad to meet her first, to meet her folks, and do all the things we’re supposed to. But this ain’t ordinary times.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Cobb,” Rear Admiral Graham said as Nick returned. “I expect you to be with Commander Emerson in two days when he gives me his report. Until then, I’ve already informed him that the Plunger crew is to be given a week’s liberty while we figure out what to do with the sub, and with you.”

Another reason for Agnes and I to find a priest. Because they won’t let her go back to the Mainland with me unless she’s a spouse.

“Aye aye, sir,” Nick replied.

“You have all done amazing work,” Rear Admiral Graham said. “The Plunger has been a Stirling example of how one conducts a submarine war. It will be unfortunate if we have to send you back to Mare Island for repair, but I don’t think I’m going to get you into drydock with all the other damaged ships.”

“Understood, sir,” Commander Emerson said. “Is there any possibility of us falling in on a new vessel?”

Nick did not miss the look that crossed Rear Admiral Graham’s face as he seemed to ponder Emerson’s question.

That man just decided the skipper needs some time on the beach. Which now almost certainly means I’m about to be out of Hawaii.

Nick’s hands began to go clammy. Over Emerson’s shoulder, Chief McClaughlin shook his head, then mouthed an apology.

I’m sorry too, Chief. But sorry beats being dead any day of the week. Even if it means that I’ll be stuck stateside while my brothers are trying to win a war.

Akagi Fighter Chutai #2

1312 Local (0312 Eastern)

Indian Ocean

9 August

The rain pounding against his canopy matched the rapid pace of Isoro Honda’s heart.

The weather was so beautiful when we left, he thought, fighting against the Shiden trying to throw itself about in the squall’s moderate updrafts. Now I can’t even see my hand in front of my face and there’s dozens of aircraft all around me.

Isoro fought the urge to look around, focusing steadily on his instruments. His radio remained silent, and part of him wondered whether the troublesome device had just ceased working or the strike’s discipline was actually holding that well.

We should have heard something from the Tone’s search plane at least. It would have been nice if the bastard had told us about the developing front.

Isoro gritted his teeth at the search plane’s delinquency. The weather was going to certainly make it harder to acquire the British vessels. Even worse, it would be next to impossible to detect the CAP that would almost certainly be at altitude, if not higher than the Japanese strike group when it came out of the clouds. If the intelligence reports were true, the Kido Butai’s blow would likely face variants of the Spitfire, Hurricane, and some of the Americans’ Grumman Wildcats. Isoro counted all of the types among his twenty-eight confirmed kills. Ergo, like most fighter pilots, he was not concerned about the opposition…provided he saw them.

This is madness. We should be almost over–

Like a curtain suddenly ripped apart, the clouds parted before the Akagi’s nine Shiden…to reveal a sky full of enemy aircraft slashing in towards them. Isoro immediately pulled back on his stick as the two groups passed through each other so rapidly no one had time for shooting. The violent sound of aircraft colliding behind him told him some had not even had time to react before they and their opponents were smashed into oblivion.

Spitfires. Isoro’s mind belatedly recognized the trademark elliptical wing of the enemy aircraft as the fight spilled out into the clear sky. Checking quickly to make sure Warrant Officer Oda and Petty Officer Takahashi had survived the literal merger, Isoro finished his Immelmann turn then immediately stood on the rudder to turn towards a pair of grey British aircraft. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Kido Butai’s strike aircraft spilling out into the daylight, olive green fuselage paint glistening from their transition through the storm.

Also Grummans.

The familiar stocky shapes were flashing towards the torpedo bombers, but Isoro had no time for them with the Spitfires much closer.