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

I'm really starting to wonder about my life choices, Eric thought as he left the teak deck behind him. Raising the gear and looking over the Dauntless, he listened closely to the engine and gently waggled the wings.

Well, looks like this lady is none the worst for wear having been suspended from the hangar roof, Eric assessed as he searched for the rest of the strike. Acquiring the circling Dauntlesses, he turned into the oval and waited for the rest of the scratch Blue Flight to join up. Blue Two was Lieutenant Lang, a tall, gangly man from VS-11 Eric had only seen a couple times in passing he'd joined the Yorktown in Sydney. Blue Three was Lieutenant Silverstein, also from VS-11.

I guess drawing heavily from the experienced pilots makes sense given how far of a strike this is, Eric mused as they climbed up to cruising altitude. Double-checking to make sure he had good oxygen flow, Eric glanced towards the sun.

At least there's plenty of daylight to get back in.

It took roughly twenty minutes for the Yorktown's Dauntlesses to finish joining up, another five for them to tuck in under the eight Hellcats that were their escort.

Surprised Fletcher's staff is allowing any of the new fighters to come along. Bonhomme Richard must have lowered some spares from the hangar ceiling.

The combined force flew along a half hour before Constanza spoke from the rear cockpit.

"Sir, Radioman Brown said that he hoped my affairs were in order as trouble keeps finding you."

Not an unfair statement, Eric thought bitterly as his gunner continued.

"But that you, being an officer and all, could take down my last will and testament if I thought of anything on the way to the carrier if I just waited until we were in formation."

Brown you son of a bitch.

"Brown is an evil man who is just upset he didn't get to come shoot at more people," Eric muttered. Before he could say anything else, he saw a slight smudge of white smoke begin to drift back from Yellow Two's engine. The stream thickened quickly as the Dauntless broke formation and jettisoned its bomb as it turned back towards the Yorktown.

"Sir, does that happen all the time?" Constanza asked, his query slightly high-pitched.

"All the time, no," Eric replied. "But we also don't fight a carrier battle every day either. Don't worry, they'll be fine."

Mild white lie.

No one had broken radio silence to report the damaged Dauntless, not even the in distress crew. He hoped that the VS-11 bird made it back in one piece, but if it went down the two men aboard were screwed.

With the surface boys forty miles north and west of us, I'm not even sure their floatplanes are this far out.

He pulled out his plotting board and made a quick notation on the side, hoping that someone had paid better attention than him to navigation.

Get your damn head in the game, Eric! War means fighting, and fighting means dying. Stop thinking about Stratmore, Strange, and Van Horn or you'll be joining them.

Glancing back at Lieutenant Commander Brigante's aircraft, Eric saw the rear gunner fumbling with something in his lap. A moment later, the man fired one yellow flare then, a few moments later, a red one.

One small thing Hitchcock got right was establishing procedures for signaling without radio within the squadron. Sure I hope he's burning like a greasy newspaper in Hell, but he at least got that right.

"Constanza, get ready to write this down!" Eric barked. He heard a rustling in the back of the aircraft, followed by a surprised curse.

"Constanza? What the hell was that?" Eric asked, thinking he already knew. There was a long pause.

"Sir, I just lost my logbook," Constanza replied.

Goddammit, Brown with a bum shoulder might have been the better option.

Before Eric could say anything else, Red One's gunner began signaling.

STORM AHEAD. LINE ABREAST FORMATION, RENDEZVOUS TWENTY MILES ON THE FAR SIDE.

Eric waggled his wings, then advanced his throttle to lead his section to starboard of Red. Leaving enough room for Blue Two and Three to formate on either wingtip, Eric glanced across at Brigante. The squadron commander flashed him a thumbs up that Eric returned before looking back forward.

Okay, that storm looks like it's getting worse by the minute.

There were no less than four thunderheads in front of them. The clouds’ upper structures were visibly continuing to billow upwards, an ominous sign for anyone getting ready to fly through them. Looking upwards, Eric saw the escorting Hellcats starting to climb and angle to the south.

Brigante should probably follow them. The Hellcat leader was attempting to lead his group between two of the towering cumulonimbus. As the sleek fighters accelerated away from the Dauntlesses, Eric had another terrifying realization.

If we don't link back up with them, we're going to be meat on the table for any Japanese fighters over that carrier.

"Sir, shouldn't we close our canopies?" Constanza asked. Jerking out of his focus on the F6Fs, Eric quickly looked around to see he was one of the few pilots who had not already closed things up in preparation for the storm.

"Good call, Constanza," he replied, reaching up and sliding the cockpit shut. The dark clouds in front of them continued to swell in the windscreen, and for a brief moment he was back aboard a different Dauntless entering a squall over another ocean. Shaking his head to force away the memory, Eric forced himself to relax.

Just a storm. You've flown through squalls before. It's just a another…

What happened when the Dauntless was still five miles away from entering the cloud swiftly disabused him of that notion. One moment he was in level flight. The next a giant's fist was shoving the dive bomber's nose down in a flat descent so sudden it made the entire airframe shudder and creak. The impact of his legs into his lap belt was so sharp and sudden he cried out involuntarily, even as his