Wings of Glory: A USS Enterprise Naval Adventure Novel, page 1
WINGS OF GLORY
A USS ENTERPRISE NAVAL ADVENTURE NOVEL
BOOK THREE
SCOTT W. COOK
SPINDRIFT PRESS
Wings of Glory
A USS Enterprise Naval Adventure Novel, Book 3
Copyright © 2023 by Scott W. Cook
All rights reserved.
Formatting and book cover provided by Trisha Fuentes
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
My Free Gift to You
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Epilogue
Before you go…
Other Books by this Author…
MY FREE GIFT TO YOU
Thank you for purchasing this novel. It gives this author tremendous pleasure to know that you’re enjoying one of my stories. As a further thank you, please visit the website below and join my free email list. You’ll receive an absolutely free eBook containing a collection of short stories – a little bonus treat on me:
www.scottwcook.com
ONE
PEARL HARBOR, APRIL 8, 1942
“Got some new boys comin’ aboard, Jackie,” Lieutenant J.G. Charlie “Chuck Wagon” Wagner said as he stopped to light a cigarette.
Ensign Jack Brewer followed suit, staring ahead of them and down the pier at the massive aircraft carrier that had been his and his friend’s home now for over four months. Four months and almost all of it had been during a state of war.
Brewer and Wagner had been the last of Enterprise’s pilots to arrive on her way out to Wake. Just over a week before the attack on Pearl Harbor. When Brewer thought of it, his time in the Navy before December 7 all ran into itself, like a smeared painting. Yet how crystal clear all of the days since that infamous day had become. How the time had flown… and how unforgettable those moments continued to be.
“Yup… new flyers and back seaters, too,” Brewer noted. “Replacements… always gonna need ‘em… Christ. Hey… that one guy there, Chuck… the radioman… he look familiar to you?”
The two officers increased their pace, fast walking up to the carefully controlled chaos near the ship’s main gangway. Men, equipment, and vehicles swarmed in a last-minute frenzy to complete the huge ship for sea. Something was brewing, and although nobody knew what, the scuttlebutt had it that the Old Man had something big up his sleeve.
“Gene! Gene, you salty dog you! Over here!” It was Carol Blackburn, Gene Lindsey’s radioman.
Standing beside him was Ron Gretz, Severen Rombach’s radioman. These two had enjoyed a bit of fame after the big attack on the Marshalls. They’d been with Torpedo six’s CO and Ensign Rombach when they’d made a run on a line of Jap ships at Kwajalein. The two enlisted man were waving to another, who was trotting up the pier from the other direction.
“That Gene Aldridge?” Wagner asked in astonishment. “Chief Dixon’s radioman! Holy cow, Jackie!”
“Well, what’d’ya know about that?” Brewer enthused. “We heard they found them three fellas after thirty-four days in a raft on Pukapuka… but I hadn’t heard anything about them comin’ back on active! Let’s go say hello, Chuck.”
The two pilots hurried over to where the group of enlisted men were gathered. As they approached, the men came to attention, but Wagner held up a hand.
“At ease, fellas,” said the SBD pilot. “We just wanted to come over and see if our eyes deceived us, or if that were really Gene Aldridge come back to the fold.”
“Yes, sir,” said Aldridge, smiling shyly.
“All kinda stories buzzin’ about as regards you boys,” Brewer added. “Thirty-four days in a life raft… my God… how’re the rest of your crew?”
Aldridge sighed, “The Chief… I dunno. I think he’s still in, just shipped off someplace. Tony Pastula mustered out, though.”
“Can’t say as anybody could blame him,” offered Blackburn.
“Hell no,” Gretz put in with a smile. “Don’t know I’d want to go to sea again after that.”
“Oh, I dunno,” added Dick Temple, Wagner’s radioman as he strolled up. “Gene here’s come back.”
Aldridge shrugged, “Well… we survived it. And our reports have helped to update and hone radio procedures for long range search flights so… I guess I feel like the sea gave me a second chance. Might as well take it. ‘Sides, got me these babies here.”
Aldridge patted the chevrons on his uniform that indicated he had been promoted to second-class petty officer, a radioman’s mate.
“Yeah, got me a couple of new Chevvies myself,” said a new voice as a small, compact man bounded over with a huge smile on his face and a hand extended.
“I heard about that, Bruno,” Aldridge shook his head. “Jumped into a Dauntless right in the path of a crazy Jap!”
Bruno Gaido laughed, “I gotta tell ya’, fellas… if I had more’n two seconds to think about it… don’t know if I’d have the stones to try that again.”
Wagner grinned, “Something tells me you’d do it anyway.”
“Just to show off,” Brewer jibed.
“And who knows more about showing off than wing-over Brewer here,” Wagner teased.
“Aw, shucks,” Brewer said modestly, and everyone laughed. “Well, we gotta report in. See you fellas on the flight deck.”
After getting settled back into their spartan yet reasonably comfortable junior officers’ stateroom forward, Brewer and Wagner headed aft to the wardroom. The large compartment was somewhat quiet, as many of the officers were rotating through watches to ready the ship for departure.
However, the two flyers moved to a table where several of their friends sat along with a handful of new additions to the air department. Roger Mealey sat with Norman “Dusty” Kleiss and scouting six’s temporary commanding officer, Max Leslie. The men were sharing cups of coffee with several new pilots neither Wagner nor Brewer had yet to meet.
“Lookie what the cat dragged in,” Mealey tossed off. “If it ain’t Frick and Frack. Howdy, boys.”
“Nice time ashore?” Kleiss asked wryly.
“Afternoon, fellas,” Wagner said. “And yeah, Dusty, we sure did. Unlike some people, we know how to keep a dame.”
Kleiss grinned, “And unlike some people… I can find replacements without breakin’ a sweat.”
“Have a seat,” Mealey said, shaking his head and smirking at Leslie. “You’ll have to forgive these boys, Max. Lotta ego in the ready rooms on this ship.”
Leslie chuckled, “Same all over the fleet, Rodge.”
Brewer moved off to draw a couple of mugs of coffee for Wagner and himself and rejoined the group, “I see we’ve got some new kids in class. Hiya, fellas. Jack Brewer and this here is Charlie ‘Chuck Wagon’ Wagner.”
“Tom Eversol,” said a young man with a friendly smile. “Devastator pilot and ready to get out there and do some devastatin’. Nice to meet you, guys.”
“Me and Tom went through the Academy together,” Kleiss added. “Been good friends ever since.”
“And this here is Pablo ‘PJ’ Riley,” Mealey continued, indicating a compact man in his late twenties. “PJ is torpedo six’s new XO now that Sexy Sara got our Mr. Massey.”
“Glad to have you, sir,” Brewer said.
“Aw, hell,” said Riley. “We’re all just flyers jawin’ in here. Call me PJ.”
“He’s shy,” said another slightly older man, also a full lieutenant. “Me too. Art Ely. Everybody calls me Doc.”
“Pleasure… lotta new pickle droppers,” Wagner said and elbowed Brewer. “When we gonna get you a nickname, Jackie.”
“How about Wing-over or Showboat,” Mealey quipped. At Brewer’s slight blush and the confused look on the Devastator pilots’ faces, he chuckled. “First day aboard, old Chuck Wagon comes in first. He and Jack are the last pilots aboard. Just to show off and rib his buddy for catching the two wire, Jack here does a neat little vertical wing-over pass by the island. Got his ass eaten off by our old CAG and our new one.”
“A hotshot, huh?” asked a dive bomber pilot with sharp green eyes and a crew cut. He laughed. “That’s okay, me too. Bud Kroger. Best damned Dauntless pilot in the Navy.”
Kleiss and even Leslie, who’d been somewhat quiet, guffawed and slapped the table. Kleiss drained his cup and shook his head.
“Ready to put your money where your mouth is, pal?” he asked Kroger. “’Cuz far as I’m concerned… it’s me holds that title.”
“Boys… boys!” Wagner held up a hand and grinned. “Clearly, you’re both delusional. We all know who the best is… ahem…”
The final new man chuckled and shook his head. He met Brewer’s and then Mealey’s gazes, “Good to see you fighter jocks ain’t the only big heads in the fleet, huh? J.G. Frank O’Flaherty. Bombing six’s newest ace. Glad to meet you fellas.”
“Hell, I didn’t know it was Thanksgiving already!” boomed a man with a New York accent as he entered. Everyone turned to see the imposing
“Just introducing Jack and Chuck Wagon here to our new flyers,” Mealey said. “Care to join us, sir?”
“Actually, the Old Man’s got a burr in his saddle and it’s all hands on deck,” McClusky explained. “I came down here to see if I could get some of you war heroes to put them backs to some good use. The Admiral wants to shove off before the sun goes down and we got a helluva lotta supplies to bring aboard yet.”
“Where the mighty CAG leads, we surely follow,” announced Mealey as he stood. “Let’s go, ladies, coffee break’s over.”
William “Bull” Halsey looked up from his paperwork at the sound of knuckles wrapping twice in quick succession at his door, “Enter.”
The office door opened, and Captain George Murray entered along with Miles Browning, Halsey’s chief of staff. Browning set a full mug of coffee down on the desk and stood at attention, a message flimsy in his hand. Both men appeared somewhat grim.
“What’s going on, gentlemen?” Halsey asked. “Am I being keel hauled or something? Is there a problem with re-supply?”
“No, sir,” Murray said. “In fact, I was on my way to report we’re ready to cast off at your order, sir. Radio just received word that Admiral Spruance is set as well. Cruisers Northampton and Salt Lake City are already tossing their lines, sir. The tin cans and our oiler are firing up their boilers, too.”
“Outstanding,” Halsey said but narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that’s the good news, gents?”
Browning sighed, “Well, sir… that’s because it is. Nothing to do with us, mind… but this just came in with the evening Fox, sir. Thought you should read it. Might be something to announce tonight at the movie, sir.”
Halsey frowned and reluctantly took the message. He read it over quickly, then again more slowly and set it down. He heaved a sigh and wiped a weary hand across his face and through his short hair, “Christ on a soda cracker… can’t say as I’m surprised by this. Sure does drop a fly in the old Chardanay, doesn’t it?”
“All the more incentive for our mission,” Browning said stonily.
Murray cleared his throat, “Admiral… if I may… what is our mission, sir?”
Browning frowned and turned it toward the captain. However, in spite of being Halsey’s chief of staff, Browning was still a commander. Murray was a captain and commanded a carrier. In the eyes of the Navy and most officers, a ship’s captain was nearly as high and mighty as an admiral. He’d not dare chastise the man directly.
“He’s got a right to know, Miles,” Halsey said. “We’re about to shove off anyway, so I think now’s as good a time as any. We’re headed north, northwest for a few days, George. Gonna meet up with Hornet.”
Murray nodded, “Heard rumors she was in the Pacific. Glad to know we’ve got another flattop joining the gang.”
“True enough,” added Halsey, “but we’ve got to keep it under our hats, George. You can tell Tom where we’re going… but this next part, not even your XO hears until the day of. Understood?”
Murray frowned slightly but nodded, “Of course, sir.”
“The Office of Strategic Services, the Army Air Corps, along with Admiral Nimitz, has put together a little surprise for Tojo, George,” Halsey said and stood, beginning to pace behind his desk. “We’re going to escort Hornet out to a point about 475 miles east of Honshu. Then, Hornet launches her air raid.”
Murray’s eyes bulged, “Air raid? On… on Tokyo, sir?”
Browning nodded and smiled grimly, “Right up to Hirohito’s goddamned doorstep.”
Murray frowned, “Sir, none of our bombers have that kind of range… it’s a suicide mission.”
Halsey shook his head, “Not our bombers, George. The Army’s. Sixteen B-25 Mitchells led by Colonel Jimmy Doolittle no less.”
“Holy… Christ…” Murray breathed. “Off a carrier? Those big birds?”
“It’s been tested already,” said Browning. “At Norfolk back in February.”
“Anyway,” Halsey went on, “they drop their loads and head over to China. And I know what you’re thinking, George. Even sixteen B-25s fully loaded… which they probably won’t be on account of range requirements and fuel consumption… aren’t enough to really pound Tokyo like they did Pearl.”
Murray nodded and then smiled thinly, “That’s not the point, though, is it? It’s a message.”
Browning harrumphed, “Damned right it is. Especially coming after this latest news. We need to let Hirohito and Tojo know that they aren’t safe, not even at home. That there is nowhere we won’t follow to punish them for what they did.”
“This is real hush-hush,” Halsey reminded Murray unnecessarily. “But now you know, George. Will you see to getting us underway?”
Murray snapped to attention, “Aye-aye, sir… and thank you for confiding in me.”
Halsey grinned and then his smile dissolved when he caught sight of the message he’d just been handed, “You deserve it, George. Hell, we all do… but you know how security is.”
Murray nodded and went out. Halsey frowned and began rubbing his arms and then his chest. Browning saw and cocked an eyebrow.
“Little itchy,” Halsey shrugged. “Probably goosebumps from thinking about this mission. All right, Miles… let me get back to it. See you later at chow.”
“Hey, Billy, over here!”
Chief Machinist’s Mate William Smith turned to see a tall man waving at him from near the front of one of the blocks of chairs set up in the hangar. Beside him, another man he knew waved and grinned. One was Ed Steele, the flight deck chief and the other Tony “Gears” Slidell, a fellow machinist’s mate from the engineering department.
“Yeah, I see ya’, Ed,” Smith said. “And you too, Tony. Keep your pants on. Lemme get some popcorn and I’ll join ya’. Keep my seat warm.”
The chief got into the refreshment line behind a trio of ordnancemen who suddenly quieted their somewhat loud and ribald conversation about a particular establishment in Pearl when they noticed the high and mighty CPO swing in at their sterns. Smith grinned and waved them off, letting them know he didn’t want to rain on their parade.
“Hiya, Chief,” said Pete Ortiz as he walked up to get into the line with Burt Waczek.
“How you likin’ the new digs?” asked Waczek with a smile.
Smith had come aboard shortly after Enterprise had returned from her Marcus Island raid. He’d served aboard carriers for several years but had been assigned to other duties since the war broke out.
“Damned good feeling to be back aboard a flattop again,” Smith admitted to the two plane captains. “And these Yorktown-class jobbies are quite an improvement over old Ranger. Big.”
Ortiz nodded, “Don’t call her the Big-E for nothin’. Say, Chief… I know you’re kinda new here, but y’know… bein’ a high and mighty CPO and all… got any idea what’s going on around here?”
Waczek snorted, “Yeah… we sailors are always the last to know when our butts are on the line.”
“What makes you think somethin’s goin’ on?” asked Smith.
Ortiz scoffed, “C’mon, Bill. Look at the replenishment tempo. Get ‘er loaded up and moved out in twenty-four hours, boys! Christ… gettin’ so that’s becoming the norm around here.”
Smith shrugged, “Hell, I don’t know… papers seem to think there’s a war on or somethin’. Maybe that’s it.”
“Oh, swell…” Waczek chuckled. “Another wise-ass signs aboard.”
The three sailors ahead got their snacks and Smith and his two companions moved up. They got themselves bags of popcorn and Cokes and moved down an aisle toward Steele and Slidell.
“You men know how things work in this man’s Navy,” noted Smith. “It’s need to know. And if you ain’t got a college degree and a set of khakis… you don’t need to know until the last minute.”
