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

"The weather's not going to be that bad, Cobb!" Brigante chided teasingly. "You act like you've been shot down twice or something!"

Eric glared at his superior officer.

"I've also hit my target, sir," he shot back, leading to several jeers and laughs from the gathered pilots. Brigante took the comeback in stride, looking at a couple of the gathered group.

"Well since our good friends from VS-11 will be joining us rather than screwing up our dives," Brigante replied, causing the four men standing around Eric to shift. "I think this will go a lot better."

"You can go fuck yourself," Charles muttered from beside Eric, his voice raw but still just low enough for Eric to hear. Eric made sure he didn't glance over at his friend, suddenly glad the engine roar from the last Wildcat taking off made it difficult to hear. For a brief moment, the Yorktown's flight deck was quiet.

"Well, let's get this show on the road, we're already late!" Brigante shouted, stepping away from his map. "Hurry up and get the position copied down, then man your planes."

The gathered pilots quickly complied, each pilot swiftly marking down the damaged carrier's position then turning towards their respective Dauntless. Eric grabbed Charles' arm as the younger officer angrily finished sketching the necessary bearing and heading. Moving away from where Brigante knelt, Eric waited until they were definitely out of earshot.

"He didn't mean anything by it, Charles," Eric said. He watched Charles' nostrils flare as the man turned and looked back at Brigante.

Man goes out there with a temper like that, he won't be coming back.. He suddenly felt a moment of terror.

"You lost your squadron leader," Eric spoke rapidly. "Lieutenant Commander Brigante has lost several good friends."

"And I fucking haven't, Eric?" Charles nearly shouted.

"Goddammit, push it out of your head," Eric replied, annoyed at how desperate he sounded. "I don't want to deal with Toots losing the man she loves."

Charles looked like he was going to snap something else, but stopped. Face still flush, he nodded stiffly.

"Judging from what she told me about you as kids, you'd probably just make her angrier," Charles said with a wry grin.

"Toots cleans when she's angry," Eric said. "I don't think Jo would appreciate the spotless house that much."

Charles extended his hand, and Eric took it.

"See you when we get back," he said.

"You better," Eric replied. "Someday I'm going to have kids, and it'd be nice if they had at least one sane uncle."

Charles shook his head.

"You sure it's too late to let your sister down easy?"

"Cobb! Read! Hurry up gentlemen!" Lieutenant Commander Brigante shouted.

With a final glance, Eric turned and continued back to Blue One. He briefly looked over to where the last Blue One had been pushed over the side, then once more shook himself out of reverie.

Going to walk into a damn propeller if this keeps up. This day was supposed to be over by now, and I’m starting to get loopy.

Eric was startled to see Brown sliding gingerly off his wing as he walked up to Blue One.

"Goddammit Brown," Eric muttered. "I thought they told you to stay in sick bay?"

Brown shrugged, then cursed in pain.

Yeah, maybe not shrug with a partially dislocated shoulder, hmm?

Brown had not realized he'd injured the joint at some point that morning until the adrenaline rush had worn off. From what Eric understood, two of the squadron's gunners had threatened to drag Brown to sick bay rather than let him fly again in such a state.

"I'll be all right, sir," Brown said, clearly angry that he was missing the attack. The scowl left his face as he gave one more glance towards the clearly petrified young man checking the Dauntless's rear guns yet again. "I was just explaining to Radioman 3rd Class Constanza how he needs to subtract 1000 feet from the actual altitude if he actually wants to get back here alive today."

"You did not tell him that," Eric said, his drawl deepening. Brown nearly shrugged again but caught himself.

"Well, guess you'll find out when you get to that damn carrier, sir," Brown replied. "Sounds like it's the same one we hit earlier. This time, punch that bitch like you just caught her poking a hole in the rubber."

Eric's eyes widened as Brown walked past him towards the island.

Jesus, I hope that was the morphine talking.

He'd known Brown was a hard man, but that simple sentence told him more about his gunner than their many conversations while flying. Shaking his head, Eric quickly got in the dive bomber and went through his preflight ritual with the crew chief. Satisfied, he clicked the intercom.

"So Constanza, where you from?" Eric asked, fighting the urge to cough as he inhaled exhaust from the section of Dauntlesses in front of him.

"Minneapolis, sir," Constanza replied.

Kid sounds like he's twelve.

Fear and responsibility jumped on Eric’s proverbial shoulders with hobnailed boots at that moment. Shrugging it off, he tried to keep the conversation light.

"Minneapolis?!" Eric asked. "How'd you find yourself out here in the middle of the Indian Ocean from Minneapolis?"

"It was volunteer for the Navy or get drafted for the Army," Constanza replied. "I wasn't expecting them to get me through training as quickly as they did though."

"Quickly?" Eric asked, watching as Brigante started down the flight deck.

"My high school graduated me early back in March on account of me being already 18," Constanza said. "So here I am."

Eighteen. He can't even vote and he's stuck here in the back of some plane hoping I don't get his ass shot off.

"Here's to hoping you can tell your grandchildren about the time you sailed with Fletcher," Eric said, watching as the last of the ad hoc Yellow Flight trundled down the Yorktown's deck. Advancing forward slightly under direction of the plane director, Eric spared a quick glance up towards the island. He recognized Vice Admiral Fletcher and his staff all watching the takeoff but did not have time to study their faces before it was his turn